n on the breakfast table. The children
went on with their meal in silence. William Cole had always been
popular with them, for reasons which have already been given. He was
a civil-spoken, dapper-looking young fellow, perhaps not over fond of
work, and a little too ready for a half-hour's gossip, or for spending
his time making the tail of a kite, when he should have been cleaning
the yard or digging in the garden. But whatever his faults had been,
they were for the time forgotten, and only his better qualities
remembered. Even Guy seemed shocked and subdued by the terrible news.

"I say," he remarked, as he and Brian walked along on their way to
school, "it's awful to think that William's drowned! Somehow, I can't
believe it's true. He was such a sharp, lively sort of chap, it seems
almost impossible that he's dead, and that we shall never see him again.
Even now I feel inclined to shout for him, and ask him to do things,
just as if he were still at work somewhere about the place."

Mr. Ormond, who was a magistrate, had to attend at the police court that
morning, and was rather late in returning home to dinner.

"By the way," he said, speaking to his wife, "I mentioned that
carving-knife to Evans, our police sergeant, and asked him to call in
when he's passing, and just have a look at it; so he says he'll be round
some time this evening. I'll see him here in the dining-room, if he
comes when the children are at their lessons. They needn't know the
reason why he called."

"You don't suppose either of them threw the knife into the pond, do
you?" asked Mrs. Ormond.

"Oh no!" answered her husband, laughing. "Only I thought that if they
heard that a policeman had been called in, it might fill their heads
with all kinds of fancies, and I don't want to do that. Elsie, especially,
seems highly nervous, and is blessed with a rather too vivid imagination.
If it got on her mind I don't know what blood-curdling story she wouldn't
be telling us next."

Punctually at the time appointed, Sergeant Evans presented himself
at the Pines, and was ushered into the dining-room. He was a stout,
rosy-cheeked man, and so tall that he seemed almost obliged to stoop as
he entered the door.

"Good-evening, sergeant," said Mr. Ormond. "This is the knife I spoke to
you about. What d'you think of it? Look at the blade."

The officer laid down his helmet and walking-cane, and, taking the
carver, subjected it to a careful examination.

"Whe