guage, and Acton was calmly indifferent.

"But I tell you, Worcester, some beast locked us in the punt-house."

"I wish they'd kept you there," said Dick, unmollified.

Whilst Worcester was swallowing his tea, Rogers and Wilson craved
audience. Their faces were as long as fiddles.

"Oh, Worcester!" began Rogers, tremulously, "we've come to tell you that
it was we who lost Biffen's the houser."

"Why, Wilson didn't play, and you caught Cotton," said Dick, astonished.

"But we locked the dervishes in the punt-house--we thought there was
only Todd inside."

"Oh, you did, you little beggars, did you?" said Worcester, considering
the doleful and grief-stricken Biffenites. "Well, here's a shilling for
each of you if you keep it dark. I'm deucedly glad the dervishes didn't
play. I'd rather lose a dozen housers than feel the niggers were
indispensable. Now, cut; and next time you bottle 'em up, see they don't
get out."

"Golly!" said Rogers, as the two left Worcester to his tea. "I suppose
the sun's affected Worcester's brain."

Whilst the dervishes were explaining matters to Worcester the other
prisoner was elbowing his way into the crowd around the Fifth Form
notice-board, whereon were pinned the final lists. Jim Cotton was
planted squarely before the board, eyeing the contents with huge
delight, and when he caught sight of the struggling Gus he haled him
vigorously forward.

"Here you are, Gus! By Jove, Toddy, you've done it this time, you old
Perry fizzler!"

Gus eyed the list with delighted eyes.

This is what he saw: "First--Todd, A.V.R.--history medal, and chemistry
prize."

Need I say anything more of either Todd or Cotton? Todd entered the
Sixth when the summer holidays were over, and Phil Bourne writes me
often and tells me what a big gun Todd is in the schools. Jim Cotton was
entered upon the roll-call of some celebrated "crammer" near the Crystal
Palace. If crammers' hearts _could_ be broken, Jim, I should say, will
accomplish the feat. But if ever James Cotton _does_ get into the Army
he will never disgrace his regiment.

CHAPTER XXX

THE END OF THE FEUD

Thoroughly satisfied with himself and all the world, Acton had on the
last Saturday of the term--the election for the captaincy was to be held
that night--left the cricket field to the enthusiasts, and turned his
feet towards the old Lodestone Farm, the road he knew so well. He wanted
to be alone with his happy thoughts. He was more th