books with a sigh, thinking
he has done something horribly wrong, whereas he has learnt on in
advance much more than will be done at second lesson.

But the old Madman hasn't, and gets called up and makes some frightful
shots, losing about ten places, and all but getting floored. This
somewhat appeases Tom's wrath, and by the end of the lesson he has
regained his temper. And afterwards in their study he begins to get
right again, as he watches Arthur's intense joy at seeing Martin blowing
the eggs and glueing them carefully on to bits of cardboard, and notes
the anxious loving looks which the little fellow casts sidelong at him.
And then he thinks, "What an ill-tempered beast I am! Here's just what I
was wishing for last night come about, and I'm spoiling it all," and in
another five minutes has swallowed the last mouthful of his bile, and
is repaid by seeing his little sensitive-plant expand again, and sun
itself in his smiles.

After dinner the Madman is busy with the preparations for their
expedition, fitting new straps on to his climbing irons, filling large
pill-boxes with cotton wool, and sharpening East's small axe. They carry
all their munitions into calling-over, and directly afterwards, having
dodged such praepostors as are on the look-out for fags at cricket, the
four set off at a smart trot down the Lawford footpath straight for
Caldecott's Spinney and the hawk's nest.

Martin leads the way in high feather; it is quite a new sensation to him
getting companions, and he finds it very pleasant, and means to show
them all manner of proofs of his science and skill. Brown and East may
be better at cricket and football and games, thinks he, but out in the
fields and woods see if I can't teach them something. He has taken the
leadership already, and strides away in front with his climbing-irons
strapped under one arm, his pecking-bag under the other, and his pockets
and hat full of pill-boxes, cotton wool, and other etceteras. Each of
the others carries a pecking-bag, and East his hatchet.

When they had crossed three or four fields without a check, Arthur began
to lag, and Tom seeing this shouted to Martin to pull up a bit: "We
ain't out Hare-and-hounds--what's the good of grinding on at this rate?"

"There's the Spinney," said Martin, pulling up on the brow of a slope at
the bottom of which lay Lawford brook, and pointing to the top of the
opposite slope; "the nest is in one of those high fir-trees at this
e