est of
carpenter's tools, the gift of his father and mother, a book from the
girls, and an air-pistol from Brian. He was full, too, of mysterious
hints as to the new game, but refused to enter into explanations till
the time arrived for giving it a trial. The boys were home early, and
got through their lessons for the next day before a ring at the bell
announced the arrival of the guest.

[Illustration: NAYLOR]

Naylor was a small boy, with rather a deep voice. He wore a spotless
turn-down collar, his hair was carefully brushed, and he evidently had
on his "company manners," which seemed to fit him rather badly, like
ready-made clothes. He spoke to Brian in quite a deferential manner,
calling him Seaton, and he was evidently shy of Elsie and Ida.

"Hullo, Nails, old chap!" cried Guy, seizing hold of his guest, rumpling
his hair, and giving him a slap on the back which made him stagger.
"Have you come prepared for a good feed?"

"Shut up, Ormond," murmured the unfortunate Naylor, glancing in the
direction of the girls, and flushing crimson. "Why can't you leave a
fellow alone?"

"You look so jolly tidy," laughed Guy.--"He's usually all over ink--isn't
he Brian?--and goes about with only the lining of a cap on his head."

"It got torn," explained Naylor, in an apologetic tone. "But I only
wear it in the playground. I've got a better one."

"I'm sure _you_ needn't talk, Guy," put in Ida. "You're untidy enough. I
don't know what state your clothes would get into if you lived away from
home."

"Oh, fiddles!" answered her brother. "Have you brought your bicycle
lamp, 'Nails'? Yes? That's all right, then! Because if you hadn't
I should have sent you back again to fetch it, so it's lucky you
remembered. It's for the game we've invented," he continued. "No, I
shan't tell you what it is now. I'll explain it after tea."

Brian had left the room, and Guy rushed away to ask him something.
Master Naylor, left unceremoniously alone with the two girls, drew a
long breath, and nervously twisted his steel watch-chain. No one would
have supposed that that very morning he had been sentenced to a term of
extra drill for riotous behaviour in the classroom; but "Nails" had
inherited the instincts of a gentleman, and he made a heroic attempt
to enter into conversation.

"You--er--you know Seaton?" he began.

"You mean Brian, I suppose," answered Ida, smiling. "He's our cousin."

"Oh, of course," answered the visitor. "I remembe