parting words passing between Waller and
the sergeant, the men joining in giving their young host a cheer, which
struck very emptily upon Gusset's ear, and made him mutter vows about
being even some day, as he scuffled across to get close up to the
soldiers and march with them back to the village.

And now that all danger seemed to be over, Waller's spirits rose, and,
in company with the gardener, he walked with the search-party along the
drive, out at the gate, and along the road to the edge of the Squire's
estate, keeping up a running fire the while to harass the rear of the
column, which was formed by Tony Gusset, the actual rearguard being
composed of the sergeant, who fell back with the pair from the Manor to
march along silently and solemnly, though thoroughly enjoying the
impromptu fun.

The gardener commenced it by calling out in an excited tone, as if he
had suddenly recalled something:

"Here, hi! Gusset!"

"Yes," said the man, stopping, to turn round his great full-moon face.

"Why, you didn't take the soldiers to look at the cucumber-frames.
Bound to say there's one of them there spies lying snug under the
leaves."

"Ugh!" grunted the constable angrily; and he turned again and went on.

"I say, don't be in such a hurry; there's the sea-kale pots, too."

"Ah, to be sure!" cried Waller, loud enough for the constable to hear.
"Gusset must be right. Better come back and have another look. He may
be in one of the sties disguised as a pig."

Just then the road was leading them along by the bank of a fine old
hammer pond, a great black-looking pool surrounded by a dense growth of
alders and water-loving shrubs, while sedge, reed, and rush flourished
wonderfully, and formed a mazy home for the abundant moorhens and coots.

As the party moved onward to the village there was a sudden rush and a
splash, and Waller called upon the sergeant to stop.

"Here's a likely place, sergeant," he said.

"Nonsense!" said the man, "I know what that splash was. It was a big
pike."

"It might have been," said the gardener, grinning, "but it's more like
the sort of splash a French spy would make when he saw soldiers' scarlet
jackets. Why don't you make old Waxy dive in and have a hunt all round
under the bushes?"

"No, don't, sergeant," put in Waller. "It's ten feet deep in some
places."

"Pooh! What does that matter?" cried the gardener, who, like the boy,
spoke loud enough for the constable to hear. "He w