he haystack seemed to be cut exactly for my purpose, and, mounting step by step, I found a terrace more than sufficiently large to allow me to lie at full length. The scent was warm and sweet, and when I had said my prayers, I lay staring up at the sky, watching as the stars came out one by one. For a while, sleep would not visit me, although my head went round and round, as it were, and I seemed to be conscious of nothing but the tramp pursuing me along the white, dusty road. Yet I must have fallen asleep before long, because I was suddenly awakened by the barking of a dog.

'Heel, Tiger,' said a man's voice. 'Good dog, heel!' I still heard the dog growl in a painfully threatening manner, then the man's voice again. It was a somewhat rough voice, yet with a kindly note in it. 'Now,' it said, 'whoever you are, I advise you to show yourself. I don't want to hurt you, but if you don't show up in another minute, I shall set my dog on to you.'

As it was, I felt in mortal dread lest Tiger should spring at me during my descent; still, I rose to my feet, feeling still a little giddy and confused, climbed down to the foot of the haystack, and walked a little timidly towards the gate, where I could distinctly see the tall, stoutly-built figure of a middle-aged man in the light of the rising moon.

'What were you doing there?' he demanded.

'I was only asleep,' I answered.

'Think my hayrick is a proper place to sleep on?'

'I had nowhere else,' I cried.

'Well,' he said, 'come along with me, and we will have a better look at you.'

As I walked by his side, with Tiger, a large retriever, sniffing suspiciously at my heels, I realised that we were going in the direction of the cosy-looking farm-house. The possibility of being offered a comfortable bed, with a chance of taking off my clothes, and of something to eat, seemed delightful, and, before we came within sight of the red blind again, I had lost all fear of my companion, although he had not opened his lips during our short walk.

He came to a standstill in front of a five-barred gate beyond the barn, in which I could hear the cows chewing. 'Now, then,' he said, and, without any second bidding, I entered the farmyard. 'This way,' he continued, and the next minute he was tapping the door of the house with his stick. It was opened by a short woman, who wore a white apron over a dark dress, and had one of the ugliest and pleasantest faces I have ever seen.

'Who is that?' she asked, stepping back in surprise on seeing that the farmer was not alone.

'I went to see if the calves were all right,' was the answer, 'and the youngster was asleep on the rick. Tiger found him out—didn't you, Tiger?'

'Well,' said the woman, 'he looks as if something to eat would do him good, anyhow.'

'Take him to the kitchen, Eliza,' cried the farmer, and, opening a door to the left of the passage, she bade me enter and sit down; whereupon I suppose I must have again fallen asleep, for I was conscious of nothing farther until I opened my eyes, and saw Eliza in the act of placing a tray on the deal table; on the tray I rejoiced to see a large pork chop, a cup of hot cocoa, and a thick slice of bread.

CHAPTER VII.

My spirits seemed to rise with every mouthful of food, and I felt that I had at last reached a haven after all the unfortunate turmoils of this first day. Although the evening was hot, the kitchen fire seemed only to add to the sense of comfort, and although there were no looking-glasses, there were many things so bright that I could easily have seen my face in them.

Eliza, who was Mr. Baker's housekeeper, watched me with evident enjoyment, and before the plate was empty she rose to replenish it. I felt thankful that Providence had guided me to Mr. Baker's door, and devoutly hoped that I should not be turned away that night. I realised instinctively that these were the sort of people who would not turn a dog from their door if he needed succour, and by the time I had finished my meat, and had begun to eat a large portion of apple tart with a great many cloves in it, it appeared certain that there was shelter for one night, at least. At last I finished the last piece of thick and rather heavy piecrust, and sat waiting to see what would happen next.

'Now,' said Eliza, 'I should think the next thing ought to be to clean yourself.'

'I should like it immensely,' I answered.

So she led me to a wash-house behind the kitchen, and brought a large bowl of enamelled iron, filling it with very hot water. A cake of yellow soap and a jack-towel were provided, and taking off my jacket and waistcoat, I enjoyed a thoroughly good wash.

'Let me see what I can do with those,' said Eliza, taking my jacket and waistcoat, and when she brought them back as I dried my hands they certainly looked a little less dusty. She lent me a hard brush to brush my knickerbockers, stockings, and boots, and although there were several rents in my jacket, I began to feel something like a respectable member of society again.

'Now,' cried Eliza, regarding me with evident approval, 'suppose you come and see Mr. Baker.'

She led me to the room where I had seen her, earlier in the evening, draw down the red blind, and he was seated in an arm-chair with a wooden pipe in his mouth.

'Sit down,' he said, and nothing loth, for my legs still ached painfully, I took a chair by the door. 'Now,' he continued, 'how did you get yourself into such a state, and how is it you are wandering about the country alone?'

'I ran away,' I answered, and Mr. Baker looked towards the door, which Eliza had left half open.

'Eliza,' he exclaimed with a kind of chuckle, which seemed to confirm the assurance that I had found a sympathetic listener—'Eliza,' he shouted, 'the youngster's run away.'

'Has he, though?' said Eliza, coming to the threshold, where she remained standing.

'From school?' he asked, and sliding down farther into his chair, evidently prepared to enjoy my story, while Eliza stood in the doorway with her arms folded. I told it from the beginning. Every now and then Eliza would interrupt with an expression of sympathy, and Mr. Baker slapped his knee when I told him how I had thrown the hair-brush at Augustus. When I came to the end, having described the day's adventures, the sale of my watch and chain, with the theft of the fifteen shillings by the tramp, Mr. Baker shook his head, and looked into Eliza's pleasant, plain face.

'Now,' he said, 'the question is what's to be done with the youngster?'

'Supposing you got to London,' she suggested, turning to me, 'what did you think of doing?'

'I know I could do something,' I answered confidently.

'Still,' said Mr. Baker, 'you have not done much good for yourself to-day now, have you?'

'No,' I was compelled to admit, 'not to-day.'

'And you have no money left?' cried Eliza.

'When I get to London I am going to find some work to do,' I assured her; but she shook her head, and smiled a little sadly.

'Come to think of it,' said Mr. Baker, 'this Turton is about your only friend.'

'I don't call him a friend,' I answered.

'Anyhow,' exclaimed Eliza, 'it is too late to do anything to-night.'

'I suppose you can make the boy up a bed somewhere?' said Mr. Baker.

'If you ask my opinion,' she replied, 'the sooner he's inside it the better.'

'Yes; and directly after breakfast to-morrow morning,' he said, 'I shall drive the youngster back to Castlemore.'

'Not to Mr. Turton's!' I cried.

'What else do you think I can do with you?' he asked, as Eliza went away to prepare my bed.

'I would sooner do anything—anything,' I said, 'than go back.'

'I dare say you would,' he answered. 'Only you see there is nothing else to be done. I can't say I believe in boys running away, but still you seem to have been badly treated, and if you had a home, I don't say that in the circumstances I would not see you to it safe and sound. But you have not; and the consequence is that it is my duty to take you back. And,' he added, solemnly, 'however severely he treats you it won't be half so bad as what you would meet with if I let you go your own way.'

I could find nothing to answer. With all his kindness, Mr. Baker seemed to mean what he said, and I realised that a remonstrance would be only waste of words. Besides, I am afraid I was become cunning in my efforts at self-preservation, and if I said nothing, I certainly thought the more. My sleepiness seemed to have left me, and all my wits were at work. If I could prevent him, I determined that Mr. Baker should not take me back to Ascot House, although as yet I had not the remotest notion how to hinder his purpose.

One thing appeared certain. He was only to be defeated by strategy, and not by force. As I looked at his large fist resting on his arm-chair, I knew that if I attempted to resist I should be as powerless in his arms as I had been in those of the tramp. Presently Eliza re-entered the room to say the bed was ready, and when I arose Mr. Baker held out his arm to shake hands, causing me to feel not a little shamefaced. My friend seemed to have become an enemy. He had treated me kindly, and, indeed, still intended to do what he considered best for me, while my chief aim was to oppose him. But to have said right out that I would not go back to Castlemore would have defeated my own ends, so that I put my hand in his, received a cordial shake, and then followed Eliza upstairs. She carried a candle, which she set down on the washing-stand, and I saw that I was in a small room, extremely cool and clean, with one window, in front of which stood a muslin-covered dressing-table.

'Now tumble in quick,' she cried, 'and I will come to take the candle.'

(Continued on page 58.)