iling afternoon. The summer term had once more come round,
and Jack, with his coat off, was sitting in a shady corner of the
schoolroom wrestling with a letter to Queen Mab.

"I write to her nearly every blessed week," he continued, "and the
consequence is I've never got anything to say. I've told her how jolly
it is to think that in four weeks' time we shall be at Brenlands again;
and now I'm stuck, and I can't get any further."

"Have you told her how well you've been doing in cricket this season?"

"No."

"Well, I have; so it doesn't much matter. Look here! Raymond
Fosberton's outside, and wants to see you."

"Oh, tell him to go to Bath!" answered Jack, making another stab at the
ink-pot with his pen. "I want to finish this letter."

"No, come along," answered Valentine, laughing. "You must be civil to
the fellow; he's been waiting about for nearly a quarter of an hour."

"Do him good," growled the scribe, reluctantly pitching his untidy
epistle into a very disorderly desk. "He only comes here to show off.
Just because he's in a lawyer's office, he thinks he's a big pot, and
all he does is to write copies like a kid in the Lower School."

According to his own opinion, Raymond Fosberton had blossomed out into
the full-blown man. He wore a light check suit of the very latest
fashion, a rosebud adorned his button-hole, and he tapped the toe of
his highly-polished, patent-leather boots with the point of a
silver-mounted cane.

"Hallo!" he exclaimed; "what the dickens d'you want to keep a chap
waiting so long for? I can tell you my time's more valuable than
yours. Look here! I'm sorry I haven't been able to ask you boys to
come and see me before, but nearly every night since I've been here
I've been engaged. However, I want you to get leave to come and have
tea at my rooms on Wednesday, and after that we'll go to the fair. You
know what I mean. It's held once a year in a big field on the other
side of the town; there are shows, and round-abouts, and all that sort
of thing."

"Thanks," answered Valentine, "but I'm afraid we can't go."

"Why not?"

"Because the rule of the school is that no boys are allowed to go to
Melchester Fair. Old Westford is awfully strict about it. Two years
ago some fellows went, and had a row with one of the showmen, and it
got into the papers."

"Oh, rubbish! you can say you're only going out to tea." Valentine
shook his head.

"Oh, yes, you can," continued Raym