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The station-master had just appeared on the platform in readiness for the train when the half-dozen waiting passengers began to dance wildly and run to and fro.

"Hi! Fire!" yelled a man in corduroys. "Station's afire!"

"Where?" cried the station-master. "What the——"

"It's the cloak-room!" yelled Joe, the porter. "That chap——"

"Get the key—quick!"

"Fire!" yelled the man in corduroys.

"Fire!" roared a ploughboy and a man with a gun.

The station-master ran up to the door, thumped at it, and shouted, while the porter, who had doubled along the platform and back again, cried, "Open the door!"

"Where's the key?" roared the station-master. "Gimme the key!"

"Get the key!" yelled the man in corduroys.

"Key, key! Fire!" shouted the ploughboy and the man with the gun.

"You've got it!" cried the porter. "You didn't gimme——"

"I gave it you!" shouted the station-master, dancing and waving his arms.

"You didn't!"

"Water!" yelled the man in corduroys.

"Water, water!" shouted the ploughboy and the man with the gun.

A blue haze of smoke hovered over the platform as the London train ran in, and in two minutes the driver and stoker, guards, and a score of passengers joined the excited crowd. From every carriage heads appeared, and a medley of voices said—

"It's a fire!"

"I've got it!" said the voice of the station-master, huskily, as he rushed forward in his shirt-sleeves and fumbled at the lock of the cloak-room.

"Stand back there!" cried the man in corduroys, as Joe ran up slopping two pails of water over the feet of the passengers, followed by the ploughboy and the man without his gun slopping two more each.

"Stand back!" yelled a dozen voices.

The lock turned, the doors flew open and out came a cloud of smoke. With it came George Early, just in time to miss a deluge. Two lady passengers got their feet wet and shrieked, and no fewer than six men swore volubly in the approved custom of their own locality.

George, being about the only one inclined to leave the fire to take care of itself, immediately, under cover of the smoke, made for the station exit.

His object was to get safely out of sight and leave no clue to his whereabouts.

The station stood in an isolated position a good two miles from the nearest village, and George Early's only avenue of escape was a narrow road bordered by high hedges. He looked round quickly, just as a youth, attracted by the commotion, left his bicycle and hurried on to the platform. Without hesitation the fugitive borrowed the machine, and went off down the road at top speed. Halfway he turned to see how matters were progressing in the rear, and descried three figures following at a rapid pace on foot. George didn't need to look twice to see who they were.

At the first bend of the road he swung the bicycle over a hedge and abandoned it. Turning off at a right angle he ran along under cover of another hedge bordering a meadow, and was just about to congratulate himself on having eluded his pursuers, when a shout of discovery went up.

Off went George again, over a smooth green towards a clump of trees. Loud cries now sounded in the rear, and the fugitive, turning to discover the cause of them, saw the three men wildly gesticulating. He hesitated a moment, but as they still followed he started off again. The cause of the row was now apparent: his pursuers were signalling to some men in the fields ahead of him to bar his passage. It was evident that they meant to do so from the way they began to form a ring.

"I'm surrounded," thought George, slowing down. He looked about him for a last chance, and swore at his slender opportunities. Nothing presented itself but a tall old oak.

To be surrounded and taken like a runaway convict was too galling; George made for the tree and prepared to climb. His breath was nearly done, but he easily reached the lower branches, and by the time a ring of twenty men had reached the vicinity, was able to pull himself nearly to the top.

"What's he done?" asked a farm labourer, as Gray and his colleagues in a profuse state of perspiration joined the group.

"We're after him," said Busby.

"You needn't tell us that, mate," said another man. "What do yer want him for?"

"Set fire to the railway station," said Gray.

"Liar!" came a voice from the clouds.

"Go up after him," said Parrott, pushing Busby forward.

"Let Jimmy go," said Busby.

"Keep 'em off," said George. "They're after my money!"

Gray came forward promptly and said, "A sovereign for the first man who fetches him down!"

"Two pound each to the men who hold 'em while I get away," yelled George.

A faint cheer from the labourers. "Look here," cried Gray; "he can't pay you! I'll give five pounds to the man who brings him down."

George booed and dropped a branch on Gray's head. "I'm after them quids," said a strapping farm-hand, throwing off his coat and clambering up the tree.

"Pull him down!" cried George. "You'll all get in gaol for this if you're not careful."

Another man followed the first one, and a third followed the second.

"Five pound to the one who gets him," yelled Gray, encouragingly.

George tore off a branch and hit out at the first man as he came within reach. The man grew angry and grabbed at George's leg. Missing it, he clutched at the tree, and received a boot on his fingers. The howl that followed unnerved the third man, who descended in haste on to Parrott's shoulders.

George now climbed out to the end of a branch and worried the man that was overhauling him.

"You'll get six months for this," he said in a terrible voice.

"Come on," said the man, "you'd better give in. I've got you fair." x "Come a bit further," said George, now on the end of the branch.

The second man, who had been manoeuvring by a different route, now appeared and made a grab at George's collar. The first man, fearful of losing his prize, did the same. George clutched at both, and the next moment, with a mighty crack, the branch gave way, and the three went tumbling down through the lower branches.

The first man picked himself up and rubbed his leg; the second man swore, gazed ruefully at a tear in his trousers, and sucked a bleeding thumb; George lay quite still.

The three men from Fairbrothers' ran forward.

"Here you are!" said one of the labourers. "Now, where's the five pound?"

"Hold on!" said the second man. "We brought him down together! That's half each!"

Gray looked down at the still form of his late master and turned white. George was lying just as he had fallen, with blood trickling from a scratch across the forehead.

"You've done something now!" said Gray. "You've killed him!"

"What!" said the first man in a whisper.

"He's done for!" said Gray, anxious to avoid paying now that affairs had taken a serious turn.

Number Two gave one look at George, then edged out of the crowd and bolted.

"It seems to me," said a man with black whiskers, "that it's you fellows who've done this chap to death, hunting him like a wild beast, and then trying to put the blame on to honest working men."

The crowd murmured approval at this speech, and Gray knelt down and tried to rouse Mrs. Early's husband.

"He's breathing!" he said. "Fetch some water!"

"Can't get no water here," said Black Whiskers. "Better take him down the village afore he pegs out."

"Take him down to the village," chimed in the others.

The ex-legatees, being in the minority, and not knowing what else to do, assisted in carrying George as directed. Three of the men accompanied them, the others returning to their work.

The procession moved slowly, and eventually came in sight of a red-brick house.

"That's the parson's," said one of the men. "We'll take him there; he's a bit of a doctor."

The parson received the insensible man graciously, and heard the story of the accident. George was carried into the library and laid on a sofa, and after a brief examination the parson said he believed the case was not very serious, but that the patient must remain where he was for the present.

"You are staying in the village?" he said, looking somewhat unfavourably at Gray and his companions.

"We're not," said Gray. "But we shall stay now to hear how he gets on."

"Very well," said the clergyman. "I shall be pleased to give you information of his progress. Meanwhile, you need not consult a doctor. I think I can manage the case."

The vicar was one of those men with a smattering of medical knowledge, insufficient to enable him to cure anybody, but sufficient to give him a wild anxiety to want to. He shut the door softly on the three men and returned to the library.

"Strange!" he muttered. "I can find no symptoms of this man having had a heavy blow, and the state of unconsciousness is different from the ordinary."

"Perhaps it's shock, pa," said his daughter, who had ventured to take a look at George.

"True. Very likely. Perhaps you are right, my dear."

He felt George's pulse and examined the scratch on his forehead, which was clearly but a trivial hurt.

"Perhaps you are right, my dear. But come along. I'll get you to go down to the town for me and get a prescription made up."

As they left the library George's right eyelid flickered slightly, as their footsteps echoed down the passage the lid began to open, and by the time all sound of them had ceased it was lifted to its fullest extent. The left eyelid followed the right one, and George Early lay with both eyes open. Then his head moved slowly, and his eyes having cautiously surveyed the room, his features broke into a broad smile.

Whether or not George's tongue would have begun to wag will never be known, for at that moment footsteps sounded outside the door, and the vicar entered. He found the patient as he had left him.

"He's coming to, I think; there seems to have been a slight movement," he murmured.

George's face twitched, and he uttered a faint—a very faint—groan.

"Ah!" said the vicar, as if it was the pleasantest sound in the world, "I thought so—I thought so!"

By the time that the vicar's daughter returned George was fully conscious, but evidently still suffering from shock.

"I won't use that now, my dear," said her father. "I think we can effect a cure by simpler methods. Do you feel any pain?" he said to George.

There was no response, and George appeared to be unconscious that any one was speaking.

"He doesn't hear you, pa," said the vicar's daughter.

"Do you feel any pain?" said the parson in a mild shout.

There was no response.

"His hearing's affected by the shock," said the vicar, wisely. "I've known such cases, though they are rare."

He motioned to George to attract his attention, and repeated the question. George looked in a scared sort of way, and put his hand to his ear. The vicar shouted loudly, then louder still.

George shook his head, and made a feeble motion for the question to be written down.

"It's as I thought," said the vicar to his daughter that evening. "The sudden shock has brought on complete deafness and a temporary paralysis of the faculties. He must stay here to-night, and we shall see how he has progressed to-morrow."

"Will his friends in the village take him away, papa?"

"I don't think so. He has intimated to me that they are undesirable men, and my private opinion is that they are up to no good. I've written to the address of a doctor friend of his, who will come down to-morrow, and with whom I shall be interested to discuss the peculiarities of the case. It is a most singular occurrence."

"Very, pa," said his daughter.

On the morrow George was in much the same state as previously, so far as hearing was concerned; his sight also appeared to be affected. The fall had not, however, in any way injured his appetite, for he managed to eat a hearty breakfast. The vicar nodded his head, and said that he had known such cases before; it was as he thought. To the inquiries of Gray and the others he sent word that the invalid was progressing favourably, but could not converse with visitors.

George's friend, the doctor, arrived about midday. He proved to be one John Cattermole, a Walworth chemist, to whom George, in his clerking days, had applied occasionally for relief in bodily ailments, and very frequently for assistance in pecuniary difficulties. In the hour of prosperity George had not forgotten Cattermole, and now, when the tide of fortune had turned against him, he knew that his call for help would be answered. The friendly chemist arrived hot and dusty, in a frock coat and silk hat much the worse for wear.

"A clever man," thought the parson; "has the utter disregard of appearances common to genius."

He greeted him warmly.

"You will agree with me, I think, that it is a most remarkable occurrence," said the vicar, when they eventually visited George, who sat in the library staring at a bookcase.

"I do," said Cattermole, laconically.

The vicar continued to pour forth his opinions, and relate instances of cases he had known, during which harangue George managed to apprise his friend of the state of affairs by a most unmistakable wink. Being thus informed, Cattermole became more amiable, and begged a private interview with the patient for a special examination.

"I think he will agree with me, my dear," said the vicar to his daughter; "he is one of the most enlightened men I have ever met, and one of the few who seemed to attach any weight to my opinion."

"He didn't say much, pa."

"It is not what he said, my dear; it's the way he looked and listened. You don't understand clever men as I do."

A quarter of an hour elapsed, and Cattermole left the library.

"It is shock," he said quietly.

"As I thought," said the vicar.

"Exactly," said the other; "you have treated the case perfectly."

"My dear sir——"

"I mean it," said Cattermole, smiling. "Now I wonder if you could supply me with some bandages? And perhaps you have such a thing as a green shade for the eyes. Both hearing and sight are affected, but there is no danger in travelling. We shall return to town immediately."

"My dear sir, I have all you require. And you must allow me—I insist on ordering the carriage for you."

When George Early emerged from the parsonage to enter the carriage his head was enveloped in bandages, covered by a black silk neck-cloth. A green shade covered his eyes. The shock had evidently affected his limbs also, for he moved very slowly, supported on one side by the vicar, and on the other by Cattermole.

Both accompanied him to the station, and it was perhaps due to the grave nature of the report that morning that they performed the journey without interruption from the discharged trio. Those worthies, on hearing later that George had left, abused the parson shamefully, and pointed out to the station-master that such a dunderhead as himself ought not to be allowed on any station down the line.

The sight of George and his bandages had stopped the station-master's tongue; and while he described the fire scare, and how it proved to be nothing, to the vicar, he kept the story of the prisoner's misdeeds in the cloak-room, and the heavy claim for damages he should prefer against him, to himself. Seeing how friendly the vicar was with the young man, it was not his business to injure himself by interfering. The company would claim in due course.

George and his doctor friend went off in a first-class carriage, accompanied by the hearty wishes of the vicar. That worthy man grasped George's inanimate hand, and shook it warmly, exchanged a few pregnant remarks with Cattermole, and waved a good-bye with his handkerchief. Even Joe and the station-master touched their hats as the train departed.

The conspirators allowed themselves to get well out of hearing, and then George pulled off the green shade and roared. Cattermole took it up, and roared too.

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