th our catapults, and shot pellets into the pears as hard
as we could go. We've been wiring into them all the afternoon. Fancy
they'll taste a little gritty when he comes to eat them! Too bad? Not at
all! Serves the old beggar right!"

Cathy and I, however, felt somewhat uneasy, thinking the boys had gone
rather too far.

"If the captain finds out who has done it," said Cathy, "and complains
to Father, they'll get into the most dreadful row. He can be terribly
angry over some of their scrapes."

We waited rather anxiously for further developments, and they were not
long in coming. On the very next day a large basket of pears was
delivered at Marshlands by the old gardener, "with Captain Vernon's
compliments".

"How very kind of him!" said unsuspecting Mrs. Winstanley. "He has never
sent us a present before. They are finer than anything we have been
able to grow for ourselves."

The pears were brought in at dessert, and remarkably ripe and luscious
they appeared. I thought the boys looked a little conscious when they
saw them placed upon the table, but they hid their feelings under a mask
of would-be unconcern.

"These are some of Captain Vernon's pears, my dear," said Mrs.
Winstanley, passing the dish to the squire. "He sent such a polite
message, saying he thought we should like to taste them."

"They must be his early Bergamots," said Mr. Winstanley, choosing a
particularly fine one, and slicing it. "I know he's very proud of them,
and boasts that he can beat all the gardens round. Hullo! What's this?
It looks as if the pear were riddled with shot!"

"Perhaps they're the seeds, they often look black when they're ripe!"
suggested George hastily. He and Dick were eating apples, and Cathy and
I had also declined the offered delicacy.

"Seeds! You don't find pips made of lead! I tell you they're pellets,
though how they came inside the pear, I can't imagine. Hand me the dish,
and I'll try another."

The next was in like condition, and Mrs. Winstanley's and Edward's
plates told the same story.

"There's something queer about this!" said the squire, cutting into his
third pear. Then, suddenly catching sight of the air of elaborate
nonchalance which the boys were rather overdoing, "You young rascals!"
he roared. "I verily believe this is your handiwork!"

I will draw a veil over the explanations which followed. To Dick and
George they proved extremely unpleasant, as Mr. Winstanley was really
angry. He had lit