some room for improvement," returned the master,
laughing. "Well, if you like to come to me again just before school,
I'll go with you and speak to Mr. Westford."

The long summer afternoon dragged slowly away. Mullins brought Jack
his dinner; and after that had been consumed, he sought to while away
the hours of captivity by reading a tattered text-book on harmony, and
strumming tunes with one finger on the piano. He wondered whether he
would be sent away that evening or the following morning.

At length, just before the second tea-bell rang, the school porter once
more appeared, this time to inform the prisoner that the headmaster
wished to see him in his study. Mr. Westford sat at his table writing
a letter, and received his visitor in grim silence.

"I've sent for you, sir," he said at length, "to tell you that I have
been given to understand that you were not altogether to blame for what
happened yesterday. There is, however, no excuse for your having set
me at defiance by breaking the strict rule I laid down that no boy was
to attend the fair. As I have already said, I believe you are not
solely responsible for the disgraceful behaviour of which I received a
complaint this morning. I shall not, therefore, expel you at once, as
I at first intended, but I am writing to your father to inform him that
your conduct is so far from satisfactory that I must ask him to remove
you at the end of the present term. Until then, remember you are not
to go beyond the gates without my permission."

"Well, I've got off better than I expected," said Jack, as he walked up
and down the quadrangle, talking matters over with his cousin. "It was
jolly good of you, Val, to go and speak up for me to the old man. Ward
told me all about it. If it hadn't been for that, I should have been
expelled at once. You've always been a good friend to me ever since I
came here."

"I'm sorry to think you're going at all," returned the other. "I can't
help feeling awfully mad with Raymond."

"Yes," answered Jack, "it wasn't all my fault; but there, it's just my
luck. The guv'nor'll be in a fine wax; but I don't care. Only one
thing I'm sorry for, and that is that this'll be my last holidays at
Brenlands."

CHAPTER XIII.

A ROBBERY AT BRENLANDS.

"So at last he ran away, frightening the little birds in the hedge as
he flew over the palings. 'They are afraid of me, because I am so
ugly,' he said. So he closed his eyes, and