se he is up so early, Gil," continued Macey. "Don't
you believe it. Vane's too good a chap to go off like that."

"Bah! he is always changing about. Why, you two fellows call him
Weathercock."

"Well!" cried Gilmore; "it isn't because we don't like him."

"No," said Macey, "only in good-humoured fun, because he turns about so.
I wish," he added dolefully, "he would turn round here now."

"You don't think as the young master's really drownded, do you?" said a
voice behind, and Macey turned sharply, to find that Bruff had been
listening to every word.

"No, I don't," he cried angrily; "and I'll punch anybody's head who says
he is. I believe old Distie wishes he was."

"You're a donkey," cried Distin, turning scarlet.

"Then keep away from my heels--I might kick. It makes me want to with
everybody going along as cool as can be, as if on purpose, to fish the
best chap I ever knew out of some black hole among the bushes."

"Best chap!" said Distin, contemptuously.

"Yes: best chap," retorted Macey, whose temper was soured by the cold
and sleeplessness of the past night.

Further words were stopped by the churchwarden's climbing up the sandy
bank of the deep lane, and stopping half-way to the top to stretch out
his hand to the rector whom he helped till he was amongst the furze,
when he turned to help the doctor, who was, however, active enough to
mount by himself.

The rest of the party were soon up in a group, and then there was a
pause and the churchwarden spoke.

"If neither of you gentlemen, has settled what to do," he said, "it
seems to me the best thing is to make a line of our-sens along top of
the bank here, and then go steady right along towards Lenby--say twenty
yards apart."

The doctor said that no better plan could be adopted, but added:--

"I should advise that whenever a pool is reached the man who comes to it
should shout. Then all the line must stop while I come to the pool and
examine it."

"But we've got no drags or hooks, mester," whispered the churchwarden,
and the doctor shuddered.

"No," he said hastily, "but I think there would certainly be some marks
of struggling at the edge--broken twigs, grass, or herbage torn away."

"Look at Distie," whispered Gilmore.

"Was looking," replied Macey who was gazing fixedly at his
fellow-pupil's wild eyes and hollow cheeks. "Hasn't pitched, or shoved
him in, has he?"

"Hush! Don't talk like that," whispered Gilmore again; and just th