Graeme and Cyril ... With ... illustrations by Gordon Browne

Part I Chap

PAGE I. A HOAX ....... I II. AN ADVENTURE . . . . . l8 III. SUNNINGHAM AND WESTLANDS . . -33 IV. NEDDY TRIGMAN ...... 48 V. HENRY BURTON AGAIN 66 VI. A HALF-HOLIDAY ...... 82 VII. NEDDY'S SCHEME ...... 102 VIII. ON THE ICE . . . . . . .118 IX. THE LAST OF WESTLANDS .... 130

Part II

X. desford ....... 141 XI. THE CELESTIAI 163 XII. THE LONG RUN . . . . . . 1 72 XIII. THE NIGHT HAWKS . . . . . 1 88 XIV. THE END OF THE TERM .... 203 XV. A CONFESSION . . . . . 2I9 XVI. FOUND OUT ....... 239 XVII. AFTERWARDS ..... .

PART I CHAPTER

I A HOAX THE village of Sunningham straggled picturesquely along the right bank of the river Lys. Four miles from Sunningham the Lys skirted the gardens of Colonel Kenriston's lonely house, the Tower. About midway between this house and the village came the lock ; just above it was the best place for bathing, at any rate, for those who could swim. The water here was twelve feet deep ; there was a diving stage, and a thick clump of trees provided a certain amount of shelter for your clothes in case of a shower. This afternoon there was no likelihood of a shower. The sky was clear ; all day the weather had been fine and hot. In the early morning there had been a thick haze over the fields, and now the white roads glistened in the fierce sunlight, and the distant reaches of the winding river shone out as bright as diamonds.

It was a day on which to eat ices, or to lie in the grass and watch a cricket-match, and wish that there were fewer flies in the world. There were no ices in the primitive village of Sunningham ; the blackness of stickliquorice or the steady persistence of a large peppermint ball was as much as the youth of Sunningham could expect from the one local confectioner. As far as cricket was concerned, there was a club of the village boys, and they occasionally played a match ; but it was the kind of match that it would have broken your heart to watch. No proper attention was ever paid to the ground ; the Sunningham captain apparently thought that a captain's first duty was to put himself on to bowl, and there was not a straight bat in the eleven. But the village team had an umpire who was of some assistance to them.

He taught in the Sunday School, and in other respects led a blameless life, but he had been heard to observe that he thought a man ought to remember for what side he was umpiring, and he generally acted on that principle. But there were other occupations possible. Thanks to the river Lys, there was plenty of opportunity for bathing ; and it had occurred to two small boys to meet at the lock this afternoon for that purpose. These two boys were Graeme Kenriston and Cyril Verner. For some time past these two had been constant companions ; indeed, there was no one else of A HOAX 3 their own age in the village with whom they could have frequently associated. Cyril's father, the Rev. Charles Verner, acted as private tutor to the two boys. Every week-day, except in the holidays or in very bad weather, Graeme Kenris ton rode over from the Tower to Sunningham Vicarage, and rode back in the evening when his lessons were done ; he was as much at his ease now on a pony's back as on his own feet.

The vicar was a kindly man ; perhaps he was a little too kindly. If you wanted to learn he could teach you, but he was hardly the man to teach you much against your will. Graeme learnt most in the subjects which he liked best, and he did not learn very much of anything. He was by no means stupid, but as far as work was concerned he needed to be driven ; he suffered from intellectual laziness, a fairly common affliction among older people than Graeme Kenriston. It was always said that of the two Cyril was the more clever ; he was a few months older than Graeme, but not quite as tall, and less robust. Cyril was a good-looking boy, as dark as a gipsy ; Graeme was not particularly good-looking, but he had a pair of honest blue eyes, a firm little mouth, and a manly appear ance. Although he was the younger, he was always the leader of the two.

Graeme went off the top of the diving-stage, and Cyril could never bring himself to go higher than the top step but one. It was Graeme who found the rarest birds' nests and climbed the most impossible trees. It was Graeme who made most of their plans, and always seemed to know what to do in case of an emergency. He was more high-spirited than Cyril. In a word, as far as one could judge of the cha racters of two boys at nine years of age, Cyril, with all his cleverness, was not quite such a fine little fellow as Graeme. The boys arrived at the lock almost at the same moment. Graeme had walked there, Cyril, coming from the opposite direction from the village, arrived in his canoe. It was a fairly light canoe, and Cyril always found it difficult to get into it or out of it unless some one on the bank was holding it steady.

This afternoon Graeme watched the pro cess of disembarkation with a broad grin. " Why don't you do it quicker ? " he asked. " I thought you'd be in." " Well, I wasn't." "That's your luck," Graeme observed, flicking the head of a tall thistle with his towel. "The thing is to get out quicker than you can go over ! You remember what you told me about those stamps ? " Cyril had asserted a month or two before that if you collected a million used penny English "GRAEME WATCHED THE PROCESS OF DISEMBARKATION WITH A BROAD GRIN " (/>. 4). A HOAX 7 stamps you could get a free admission into an orphan asylum. " Yes," said Cyril, " I saw it somewhere. Isn't it right? " " Right ? It's rot, that's what it is. I'd collected a lot — about half a biscuit-tin full — and then I thought I'd ask the pater about it, and he says that it's nonsense."

" What are you going to do with the stamps you've got, then ? " " I've made a serpent.' "How? Tell us." " Well, you bore holes through the middle of all the stamps, and thread them close up together on a string. Then you tie knots to prevent them coming off. That's the serpent's body. You cut the stamps gradually smaller where the tail end is to be, to make it sort of slope off like nature. Then you cut the head out of an old cork and put it in the ink to make it black ; stick in two white beads with black pins for eyes, and glue in a bit of red flannel for the tongue. It looks rare well, I can tell you." Cyril showed no signs of enthusiasm. He had rather a preoccupied air, as if there was something of importance on his small mind. " Look here," Graeme said magnanimously, after a pause, " if you'd like to make one of those stamp serpents I don't mind doing the beast's head for you.

That's the only difficult part." " I don't think I shall do one, thanks," Cyril said slowly. " The fact is, I heard a thing to-day, at least, I didn't properly hear it — it was sort of hinted at. The governor and the mater were talking, and they'd forgotten that I was there. Well, if this thing happens, I shall have too much to do to be able to make stamp-serpents ; so will you. Besides, I haven't collected any used stamps yet." " You idiot ! Why didn't you ? " " Why should I ? Why did you ? " " Because I thought that they'd get you into an orphan asylum," said Graeme, as he began to undress. But you aren't any orphan." Well, no ; not at present." " And if you were, you wouldn't have to go into any asylum." " I suppose not," said Graeme, whisking off his left shoe impatiently. " But how are you going to know?

Anything may happen. I say, what was that thing you heard ? " " It wouldn't do to tell you." "Why not?" " Well, it's a pretty big thing, and you're in it, and it's just the sort of thing you'd like ; but it A HOAX 9 isn't fixed for certain yet. If I told you, and it never came to anything, you'd punch my head." " What rot ! I never punched your head about that orphan asylum and the stamps." " You would have done if you hadn't thought about the serpent. Besides, this is a bigger thing." " Now, you look here," said Graeme, standing on the top of the diving-stage, preparatory to his first plunge ; " if you'll tell me that thing, I'll give you my stamp-serpent — give it you for nothing. And if the thing doesn't come to anything I won't punch your head. That's honest truth." Cyril considered carefully for a moment.

" How long's the serpent ? " he asked. " It'll just go round my middle --squeezing in a bit." " If you bring it to-night I'll tell you then." " Right. I wish I'd got it with me," said Graeme, taking a neat, clean dive. The water was deep here, but Graeme could have dived into three feet of water with equal safety. It was Colonel Ken riston who had taught the boys to swim and to ride. Graeme's first lessons in these arts had taken place three years before. He was quite unusually good at them for so young a boy. " What's the water like ? " asked Cyril, who was standing on the bank, clothed in a straw hat and one shoe. " Steaming hot." This was a slight exaggeration. " Come on in." Cyril took off the hat and the one shoe. " I think I'm going off the bank this afternoon. There's no sense in climbing up those steps."

" I wouldn't be such a funk," Graeme said contemptuously. Cyril sighed, and mounted re luctantly to the second step of the stage ; he went in almost flat, with his legs bent, splashed, and stung himself. Once in the water, he showed to better advantage. The boys swam, floated, played leap-frogs, and finally amused themselves by fetch ing up stones from the bottom of the river. Sud denly they were hailed by a voice from the bank. A boy was standing there, just where a shallow ditch drained into the river. He was about their own age, and the world had apparently not treated him well. His clothes were ragged ; his face showed that he was underfed, and his expression was sulky and pugnacious. He was a stranger to Graeme and Cyril. " Hi ! " he called ; " can I bithe 'ere ? 'Ow deep's that water ?

" " Twelve feet ! " shouted Graeme. " Can you swim ? " " No, I cawnt. " Then you'd better bathe in the ditch," said Cyril, grinning. The ditch was about two feet A HOAX 11 broad, and there was never more than two or three inches of water in it. The stranger looked angry for a second ; "'hi!' he called; 'can i bithe 'ere?'" (p. 10). then, apparently, decided to take this small taunt quietly. " I didn't know," he said ; " I'm a stranger about these pawts. I belongs to Lun'en — Whoitchipul. If I could swim like you young gents, I'd get myself twenty pounds for nothing — twenty golden suvrens — out of 'ere." Graeme and Cyril had got out now, and were just commencing to dry themselves. " What do you mean ? " Cyril asked. " Theer wor' a picnicing pawty o' gents and lydies whort come from Brinsea this mornin', and their boat went through the lock, and I 'elped 'em.

When they got just 'ere, where I'm a-stannin', one old gent goes for to put on 'is coat, and, the pocket gettin' hupside-over, out comes 'is purse, with the twenty suvrens in it, and flops into the water. That's where it is now. None of them couldn't swim, no more nor I can." The words were hardly out of his mouth before Graeme had dashed into the water and dived. He was closely followed by Cyril. As soon as the two had disappeared beneath the surface the stranger's face assumed a look of considerable self-satisfaction. In fact, he winked. But when the two boys reappeared he looked as serious as before. " 'Ev yer got it ? " he asked. " No ! " shouted the two boys. " You was too much to the right. I wouldn't try it no more, if I was you." But both the boys dived again. Once more they were unsuccessful.

The stranger suggested that the purse had probably drifted under a big A HOAX 13 stone. But he thought that they'd better give it up ; they would, he feared, catch cold. How ever they'd be bound to get it in a few more dives ; they couldn't miss it, because it was a biggish purse, but it was better not to catch cold. Naturally, they went on diving, again and again. At last Cyril gave in, and began to dress. His teeth were chattering, and he was blue with cold. By the time that Cyril had finished dressing and got into his canoe, Graeme also decided that it was hopeless. He had gone over every inch of the bed of the river in that spot, and he had not found the purse. " Are you going to bring that to-night ? " Cyril shouted, as he paddled away towards Sunningham. " Yes," Graeme called after him ; " I'll come over on Kitty, if they'll let me."

" Who might Kitty be, now ? " the stranger asked Graeme, as Cyril in his canoe vanished round a bend of the river. " That's cheek, asking me that," said Graeme ; " she's my pony. WThat are you doing here, if you're a London boy ? And who are you ? " " I ain't no one in pcrticler, I ain't. We cawnt all of us be gents like yerself. My nime's Burton ■ — 'Enery Burton. I'm 'ere pawtly on a jorb and pawtly for my 'ealth. An' I ain't aweer that it's any o' your business either." Graeme went on dressing. As he was struggling with one of his boots he thought he heard a chuckle, and looked up. But Henry Burton was still sur veying him with an unmoved face. As he finished dressing the chuckle became unmistakable. In deed, Burton no longer took the least trouble to suppress it. " Look here," said Graeme sharply, " what's the joke?

What are you grinning at ? " At this Henry Burton went into paroxysms of uproarious laughter. Finally he explained, — " Oh, it ain't nothing perticler ; only it does me good to make fools of gents like yerself. And I've fooled you and your pal proper. Why, I've kep' you a-divin' for a quarter of a hour over that there purse. And there never worn't no picnicing pawty ; and there never worn't no old gent ; and there never worn't no purse. It was all my blooming kid. I've been a-gettin' of yer on. An' I done it proper — real proper ! " Henry Burton roared again in the exuberance of his merriment. It was not very wise of him, because nobody very much likes being taken in ; and just at this moment Henry Burton was stand ing on the very edge of the shallow ditch. Graeme was naturally hot-tempered.

The lines of his face set hard ; his blue eyes flashed, and his lips parted until you could have seen his white teeth. But his '(1.1 V) „ XS3HD 3HX NI Tinj NOXHsia 3XOWS CUV XQO XOHS XSI3 X33T SIH „ A HOAX 17 voice, as generally happened on these occasions, remained perfectly quiet. He was standing immediately opposite to Burton. " Very well," he said. " Now you can take a dive on your own account." As he spoke his left fist shot out and smote Burton full in the chest. Burton staggered ; before he could recover himself he had received another blow in exactly the same place, and dropped neatly into the middle of the ditch. The ditch did not contain much water, but there was a good deal of mud in it. When Burton had struggled out he was no longer inclined to laughter. He looked very revengeful, and rather frightened.

" Do you want any more ? " Graeme asked. " This'll do for now," said Burton ; " but — you mark my words — I ain't done with yer yet. I ain't done with yer yet, my swaggering gent." This was the wildest conjecture on the part of Henry Burton, and, as it happened, it was perfectly correct. Graeme laughed, tossed his towel over his shoulder, and walked across the fields towards his father's house, the Towers. He looked a fine manly little fellow in the afternoon sunlight, but he still had a few things to learn.

Chapter II An Adventure It

happened that Colonel Kenriston and the Rev. Charles Verner both dabbled a little in amateur photography. Colonel Kenriston was clever at it — he was clever at all his numerous hobbies. Mr. Verner was not so successful. On one occasion he was dining at the Tower, when the talk turned on a certain dissenting minister who had offended Mr. Verner. " I should like," he said, " though I know that it is both wrong and impossible, to punch that man's head." " Don't do that, vicar," said the colonel. " Photo graph him. He'd feel it ever so much more." It was chiefly due to the colonel's taste for photography that Graeme secured permission to ride over to Sunningham after tea. The colonel had just discovered that he had no more plates, and he had wanted to make an expedition on the following morning.

Graeme at once suggested that Mr. Verner would probably have some plates, and would be glad to give him them. " That's not a bad idea," said Colonel Kenriston ; 11 I'll send James in for them." This was not at all what Graeme wanted. " I don't think," he said, " James will like having to go into Sunningham to-night." " Well," the colonel observed drily, " I don't pay James his wages for doing what he likes exclusively. I believe there was a notion that he would occasionally have to do what I liked. You mean that you would like to ride over to Sunningham yourself." " Yes, please. Kitty wants exercise, and I almost promised to go over and see Cyril to-night. I would be very careful about the plates." " Well, I don't know," said the colonel. " 1 suppose that you can look after yourself. Yes, you can go.

But be steady, mind. Don't lark about with the pony, and don't be too late back." Graeme promised cheerfully, and in five minutes was off, with the stamp-serpent for Cyril in one pocket, and a note from the colonel to the vicar about the plates in the other. Kitty was rather fresh, and consequently im patient. She fussed about at the end of the drive because she had to wait a second for the gate to be opened. Then she regained her equanimity, and Cyril gave her a gallop on the broad stretch of turf which ran along one side of the road into Sunningham. It was not very long before he arrived at the village, and then — halfway up the steep, picturesque village street — at the old grey vicarage. There, in consideration of one carrot received, Kitty allowed herself to be petted and generally messed about by Cyril's elder sisters, Maud and Dorothy.

In the meantime Graeme went upstairs to the vicar's study. He chatted for a few moments with the vicar, delivered his note, and received the plates. Then he went on to the room which was used as the schoolroom, where he found Cyril practising the piano. Cyril was a young enthu siast on the subject of music. He was an important person in the village choir ; he had only recently commenced to learn the piano, but he gave a good deal of time to it, and was progressing. At present he was practising a sonatina of Clementi — a sonatina that has already maddened a good many households. Graeme produced the stamp serpent, and Cyril approved of it. " Look here," Graeme said, " I don't want to make you tell me things. I will give you the serpent, anyhow, and then you can tell me or not, just as you like."

But Cyril, as a matter of fact, was impatient to unfold his news. It was certainly important news — for it meant that these two boys were about to embark on a new step in their career. The days of private tuition were over, and they were to go to school. More than that Cyril did not know at present. It can be imagined that the piano was abandoned, and the two boys talked long and earnestly over their future prospects. Graeme was delighted ; Cyril had read school stories about bullies and fagging, and thought that the change would be a change for the worse. They talked so long that at last Graeme suddenly noticed that it was growing dark. He remembered that he had promised not to be late. He hurried off at once. But he was not allowed to go until Cyril's two sisters had teased him, good-naturedly, as they loved to do.

They brought him a chair out of the hall from which to mount, and a lighted stable lantern in case he felt afraid of the darkness. It is needless to say that he refused both these offers — politely, but with a certain lofty scorn. It was a moonlight night, and there were thick banks of cloud drifting over the grey sky. It was obvious from the start that there was something wrong with Kitty. She was distinctly nervous, and in going down the village street shied at everything at which a pony possibly could shy. She went uneasily, as if she knew that something was going to happen. Graeme could not make it out at all. Fear is very infectious. When an alarm of sire occurs in a theatre, three-quarters of the people are only frightened because the remaining quarter is frightened. If you are afraid of a jump, your horse knows it, and acts accord ingly.

Graeme was not in the least nervous at the start, but the strange behaviour of Kitty made him nervous. As he passed a rough stone wall every projecting stone in the dim light looked like a human head watching him intently. Then came a place where trees met over the road, and it was very dark. He always said, afterwards, that he knew that just here there was danger. At the time he laughed at his own presentiments, and pressed on, whistling a tune to keep up his spirits. He had hardly entered this dark passage when a small figure darted out from the brushwood at the roadside, with a loud yell. Kitty swerved violently, and Graeme just made out that the figure was a boy. In a second this boy had struck Kitty heavily over the haunches with a thick stick. Mad with fear and pain, Kitty reared and plunged.

Graeme lost his seat, and fell heavily, with one foot locked in the stirrup. Graeme had fallen on the soft turf by the roadside. As luck would have it, his foot had got free of the stirrup before he had been draeeed a yard. He was a good deal shaken, and slightly bruised ; his foot hurt him, too, but he had not been seriously damaged. He rose slowly, feeling rather dizzy, and listened intently, hoping to discover the whereabouts of his mysterious assailant. He could hear the clatter of hoofs in the distance down the road, as Kitty, in mad panic, galloped riderless in the direction of her stable ; then complete silence followed. It would have been impossible in the darkness to distinguish a human figure at any distance. No trace of the culprit was to be discovered. " Come out of that ! " Graeme called.

" Come out ! " There was no response to this invitation. " Come out, you dirty coward, and take your licking ! " Graeme shouted again. Once more he got no answer. Then he plunged into the brushwood by the roadside, determined to find his enemy. To say that he was angry hardly expresses it ; he felt positively murderous. He had been thrown from his pony, and his pony had been brutally ill-treated ; he had a three-mile walk before him with a lame foot ; and his fruitless search showed him that, for the present at any rate, he would be unable to retaliate. His enemy had vanished as suddenly and strangely as he had appeared. Very reluctantly he started on his walk home. He had hardly gone a step before he thought that he heard a rustling sound in the hedge, and once more he stopped to listen. But the sound was not repeated ; it might have been caused by the wind in the trees ; and Graeme resumed his walk.

When he was once outside the avenue the road became much lighter. Indeed, under ordinary circumstances, the walk through the cool summer night would have been enjoyable enough ; but the strained tendon in the boy's foot made walking no easy matter. The further he went, the more pain ful it became. He wondered what had become of Kitty ; he had a vague hope that he might find her further along the road, and remount. He looked carefully about him as he walked ; the attack on him had evidently been malicious and not merely a practical joke, and another attempt might be made to surprise him. The more Graeme thought about it, the more certain he felt that the boy who had attacked him was Henry Burton. " He said," Graeme reflected, " that he had come to Sunningham for his health. Only let me catch him, and I'll improve his health for him !

" Just at this moment he happened to twist his damaged foot slightly on a loose stone ; now he could hardly manage to limp along at all. He 4N ADVENTURE 25 struggled on for a few yards, and then heard indistinctly the sound of wheels in the distance. " What luck ! " he thought. " I don't know who it is, but I'll ask for a lift." "HIS FATHER'S VOICE SAYING, ' IS THAT YOU," GRAEME ?' " (p. 26). The next second he recognised that he had been mistaken ; the wheels were not going towards the Tower, but away from it. However, it was possible, he thought, that they might have sent some one from the Tower in the dog-cart to look for him. That was exactly what had happened. Kitty, being an intelligent animal, had galloped straight home, and had created considerable consternation there. Mrs. Kenriston suffered agonies of anxiety.

She felt sure that Graeme was lying on the Sunningham road with his leg broken or — more probably — with his neck broken. Colonel Kenriston laughed at her fears ; but he ordered the dog-cart at once, and had started off in search of Graeme five minutes after Kitty's arrival. The boy was delighted when the horse was pulled up short, as it came alongside of him, and he heard his father's voice, saying rapidly. " Is that you, Graeme ? " " Yes, father." " Are you hurt ? " " No, except that I'm a bit lame in one foot.' " Well, come along up. You've been giving everybody a pretty scare." Graeme climbed into the dog-cart with great difficulty, and began his explanation. " It wasn't my fault, really. I was coming back, and I'd just got under the trees where it's dark. Then a boy jumped out of the bush and yelled.

That frightened Kitty; then, before I could do anything, he caught her a whack with a stick, and — well, I came off." " And what had the boy got to say for himself? " the colonel asked, as he turned the horse, after satisfying himself that Graeme's injuries were slight. " I don't know. When I got up, I couldn't see anything of him or hear anything of him." " I'm thankful you're safe. You shouldn't have rows with the village boys. I've told you so scores of times. You should remember your place." Graeme reflected. It was perfectly true that all had not been peace and quietness between him and the village boys. In the previous winter they had had a difference of opinion as to what did and what did not constitute legitimate snowballing ; subsequently, Graeme's terrier had fought with an audacious mongrel belonging to one of the village boys, and Graeme had been falsely accused of having set his dog on.