ed, and all that. I
was awfully miserable until you came. If you went away--or didn't care
any more--I don't know what I'd do. But if I went away you wouldn't
mind----"

"Yes, I would."

"But you're so much stronger."

"I like being strongest."

And then and there he expounded the doctrine of the Survival, and Rufus
began to shiver all over like a frightened pony.

"I think it's perfectly beastly. What'll happen to me? Anyone can lick
me. I wouldn't have a chance."

The tears came into his round, blue eyes and trickled down his freckled
cheeks, and a sudden choking tenderness, a dim perception of all that this
one friend meant to him, made Robert fling his arms about him and hug him
close.

"Yes--you would. Because I'll look after you--always--honest injun."

2

There was one secret that he never told to anyone--not even to Cosgrave.
He was ashamed of it. He knew it was silly--sillier than in believing in
God--and he had almost succeeded in forgetting it when it came true. It
happened. Just when he was least expecting it it came round the corner.
First the music, a long way off, but growing louder and fiercer so that it
seemed as though his fancy had suddenly jumped out of his brain and was
running about by itself, doing just what it liked; then lights, torches
with streaming flags of fire that put out the street lamps altogether, and
the shadows of people marching--running--leaping--capering.

Robert ran too. He did not stop to think what it was. He was wild with
excitement, and as he ran he bounded into the air and waved his arms in a
pent-up joy of living and moving. He never had much chance to run. You
couldn't run by yourself for nothing. People stared or were annoyed when
you bumped against them. But now there was something to run for. There
was no one to see or hear him in the deserted Grove, and with each bound
he let out an unearthly, exultant whoop.

At the corner where Acacia Grove met the High Street Rufus Cosgrave
squirmed out of the pushing, jostling crowd and caught hold of him. He
was capless, panting. His red hair stood on end. In the flickering torch
light he looked like a small, delirious Loga.

"I say--Stonehouse--I was coming for you--it's a circus--they're going all
the way down to the Green--they've got their tent there--if we could only
climb up somewhere--I can't see a thing--not even the elephant's legs."

"If we cut round by Griffith's Road we'll get the