erable?" And she gave up further attempt to move him.

The travellers were away a month, during which time Percy kept his
lonely vigil at Clarges Street. As the reader knows, it was useless.
Jeffreys was never near the place, and the lad, watching day after day,
began slowly to lose hope.

But that month's experience was not wholly wasted. Memories of bygone
talks with his friend, of good advice given, and quiet example unheeded
at the time, crowded in on Percy's memory now; adding to his sense of
loss, certainly, but reminding him that there was something else to be
done than mope and fret.

What would Jeffreys have had him do? he often asked himself; and the
answer was plain and direct--work. That had always been Jeffreys' cure
for everything. That is what he would have done himself, and that is
what Percy, chastened by his loss, made up his mind to now.

He got out his old books and his tools, and doggedly took up the work
where he had left it. It was uphill, cheerless work, but he was better
for it, and the memory of his lost friend became none the less dear for
the relief it brought him.

Only one incident marked his solitary month at Clarges Street--that was
a visit from Scarfe about a fortnight after the travellers had gone.
Percy had a very shrewd guess, although he had never heard it in so many
words, who was responsible for Jeffreys' disgrace and dismissal; and
that being so, it is not to be wondered at that his welcome of the
visitor was not very cordial.

"Look here," said he, as Scarfe entered, and making no movement to
return his greeting, "is it true you were the fellow who told mother
about Jeff, and had him sent away from here?"

"My dear Percy--"

"I'm not your dear Percy! Did you tell mother that story about
Jeffreys?"

"Why, Percy, you don't mean to say--"

"Shut up! You can Yes or No, can't you?"

"I did my duty, and it's a mercy you're all rid of him!" said Scarfe,
losing temper at being thus browbeaten by a boy of Percy's age.

"Very well, you can go! You're a cad, and you're not wanted here!" said
Percy.

"You young prig!" began the visitor; but Percy stopped him.

"Look here," said he, "if you want to fight, say so, and come on! If
you don't, go! You're a cad!"

Scarfe was staggered by this outbreak; he never suspected the boy had it
in him. He tried to turn the matter off with a laugh.

"Come, don't be a muff, Percy! You and I are old friends--"

"We're not; w