THE BOY TRAMP. ( Continued from page 76. ) CHAPTER X. "'I don't remember seeing a boy.'" "'I don't remember seeing a boy.'"

Beyond the meadow lay a field of wheat, tall and yellow, although not yet quite ripe for the sickle. Stooping until my hands almost touched the ground, I ran as fast as possible under the shelter of the friendly hedge, until, reaching the cornfield, I scrambled through another hedge, and lay down on my face amidst the wheat.

But still it was impossible to feel in the slightest degree safe, the road being only a few yards distant, while I distinctly heard the sound of approaching wheels. If it had not been for the bend in the lane, I should scarcely have been able to delay capture many minutes, and even as it was, I lay quaking while I wondered whether Mr. Turton would be able to see me from the road.

The cab passed my hiding-place, however, so that I began to hope it might not be going to stop, until on the point of rising, I heard the horse pulled up, heard the door opened, and recognised Mr. Turton's voice as he told Augustus to alight.

'The boy must be hiding somewhere hereabouts,' he exclaimed.

'He might easily have got into that wood,' said Augustus, and I regretted that in my haste I had not taken to the wood on the other side of the road.

While Augustus and his father must have gone to inspect the woods, I heard the sound of an approaching motor-car, and guessed that it had stopped close to the cab on the other side of the hedge.

I lay on my face with the thick wheat growing high all around, my eyes raised to the hedge, above which I could see the top of a man's straw hat. I supposed that his motor-car had broken down, but at any rate, his companion alighted and came on to the raised path, so that I could see her hat and face.

She looked about my own age, although she must have been unusually tall. Young as she was, she wore a thick veil, which she had turned back under the brim of her white hat. A quantity of fair hair hung loose, and she had dark, rather mischievous, but friendly-looking eyes.

The next moment I heard Mr. Turton and Augustus returning from the wood, to inquire whether the driver of the motor-car had seen any one answering to my description. For the car had been coming to meet the cab, as if the driver were making for Polehampton.

'A boy of about fifteen,' said Mr. Turton, as they all drew nearer to the hedge. 'I saw him—I am almost certain it was he—about this spot. Then I lost him in the bend of the lane, and I thought it was possible that you might have seen him running to meet you.'

'I don't remember seeing a boy,' was the answer; 'but then, this wretched car is enough to occupy all my attention. Did you see a boy, Jacintha?' he added.

'No, Uncle,' she answered, and I thought what a strange name it was—one which I certainly had not heard before. 'Has he run away from school?' she asked, with obvious interest, the next moment.

'Yes,' said Mr. Turton, while I could imagine Augustus's snigger; 'he has caused me an immense deal of trouble, and I am extremely anxious to take him back with me—extremely anxious.'

While I lay in the wheat, able to see the tops of their heads as they moved closer to the hedge, it did not seem altogether improbable that Mr. Turton would gain his wish; and while he was still discussing me with the driver of the motor-car, whom 'Jacintha' had addressed as 'Uncle,' the girl came quite close to the hedge, turning to look at the ripening corn. As my eyes were upraised, they looked straight into hers, which seemed to hold them as if I were fascinated.

Now, I thought, everything is over with me! I had not realised that I could be so easily seen by any one looking down into the field from the higher path. Jacintha was evidently startled; she stepped abruptly backwards, as I supposed, to tell Mr. Turton that she had found the object of his search. I was already making up my mind how to act. Mr. Turton was unlikely to be a very swift runner, while I knew that I could give Augustus a pretty good start. The moment Jacintha came back to the hedge to point out my hiding-place I determined to rise from the ground, dart towards the adjoining field where the sheep were pastured, and taking a line across country, at the worst I would lead them all a good chase before I gave in.

A second later, though it seemed a long second in my suspense, Jacintha returned to the hedge and again looked down into my upturned face. Gradually her lips parted in a smile, and then my heart began to thump against my ribs, for I knew that she was not going to betray me. As I smiled back in my relief, she nodded her head ever so slightly, and turning, walked away from the hedge.

'Why don't you drive on to Barton?' she cried, raising her voice, I supposed, for my especial benefit.

'Barton? How far is that?' asked Mr. Turton.

'Five miles, isn't it, Uncle?' she answered.

'Five and a half,' he said. 'You keep bearing to your right.'

'But,' suggested Augustus, 'I feel certain Everard disappeared about here.'

'Is that his name?' asked Jacintha.

'Yes, Jack Everard.'

'Perhaps he has gone down through a trap-door,' said Jacintha with a laugh, and Augustus sniggered in return. How I wished there had only been Augustus to deal with, with perhaps Jacintha to look on during the process. But it would not have been his boots that I should have blacked!

'Uncle!' cried Jacintha, 'do you remember the steep lane we passed on our left?—that would be on your right,' she added, evidently turning to Mr. Turton.

'What about it?' he asked.

'There was a finger-post which said "Pathway to Barton." If they were to take that path don't you think they would get to Barton more quickly?'

'Why, yes, of course,' was the answer.

'Then,' said Mr. Turton, 'if we follow the road, we might be able to intercept the boy. I am very much obliged to this young lady. But in case you should see him after all,' he continued, 'allow me to give you this card. If you could manage to detain him while you communicate with me at Castlemore you would confer the greatest favour.'

I could not catch the answer, but a few minutes later, I heard the cab-door shut and knew that Mr. Turton and Augustus, thanks to Jacintha, had been driven off in the direction of Barton, five and a half miles distant. So that they would have eleven miles to drive before they returned to this spot, leaving me at least two hours (reckoning for the search at Barton and so forth) to make good my escape.

In the meantime the motor-car still continued to make strange noises, and every now and then its owner gave vent to curious exclamations.

'Don't you think,' suggested Jacintha, 'it would be best to try to get as far as the farrier's we passed opposite the footpath to Barton?'

'Upon my word, I almost think it would!' was the answer. 'Come, suppose you take your seat.'

'Oh!' cried Jacintha, 'but if you don't mind I think I would sooner walk—it is not far, you know.'

So a few moments later the motor-car made stranger noises than ever and moved away, evidently with difficulty, and when it had gone a little distance Jacintha came to the hedge again.

'It's all right now,' she cried, and rising I came to the edge of the field.

'I am most awfully obliged to you,' I said.

'What made you run away?' she asked eagerly.

'I was not going to stand all that,' I answered.

'All what?' she asked.

'I don't think I had better stay,' I said. 'Because they might change their minds and come back.'

But Jacintha shook her head.

'I don't think they will,' she answered. 'Because I heard him tell the driver to go to Barton. What shall you do?' she asked.

'I shall go to the left as they have gone to the right.'

'I wish we could give you a lift,' she cried.

'Where are you going?' I inquired.

'You see,' she explained, 'I really live in London, only I am staying now with my uncle and aunt—I always come to stay with them in the summer.'

'Do you live near here?'

'Why,' she returned, 'we have come miles and miles this morning. My uncle has just bought a motor-car—a beauty. We started quite early—soon after seven, and it began to rain just before, so my aunt wouldn't come. We were going to Polehampton, and we have broken down lots of times, though we get along splendidly in between.'

'I slept at Polehampton last night,' I said.

'Where are you going?' she asked.

'To London.'

'Why didn't you take the train?' inquired Jacintha.

'You see I had no money,' I explained. 'I sold my watch and chain, but a tramp robbed me.'

'Where do your people live in London?' she asked.

'I have no people.'

'Oh, I am sorry!' she exclaimed. 'What are you going to do?'

'Well,' I said, 'I don't quite know till I get there.'

Jacintha's face grew very solemn.

'I wish I could tell Uncle,' she said. 'You know he is most awfully nice, only I am afraid he might put you in the motor-car and drive after the cab—we could catch it easily if we tried.'

'Yes, of course,' I answered.

'Uncle will be wondering why I am so long,' she continued. 'I expect we shall go straight back now the motor-car has gone wrong.'

'Where to?' I inquired, from sheer curiosity to learn as much about her as possible.

'Uncle lives at Colebrook Park,' she answered.

'Where is that?'

'About a mile this side of Hazleton,' she said, on the point of going away. 'I do hope those people won't catch you,' she continued, 'and that you will reach London all right, though it doesn't seem much use if you haven't got any people. I never knew any one who had run away before,' she added, regarding me with evident interest, and with that to my great regret Jacintha walked away.

'Thank you ever so much,' I cried, and then in order to see the last of her, I came round into the road, standing on the path watching until a bend took her out of sight. Even then I did not at once set out on my journey, but, having taken the precaution to bring some bread and cheese in my pocket, I sat down to eat it, near the spot where Jacintha had recently stood, when I saw something shining on the path.

Taking it in my hand, I found that it was a heart-shaped locket, which doubtless belonged to Jacintha. I imagined that she had worn it suspended from a chain round her neck, that it had caught in one of the twigs of the hedge and been broken off when she started back in astonishment on first seeing me lying amidst the corn.

Ignoring any possible risk from her uncle, I now thought only of returning the locket, and accordingly set forth at a run, nor stopped until I reached the farrier's shop, opposite the footpath to Barton. Then I saw, to my extreme disappointment, no sign of a motor-car before the door.

(Continued on page 94.)

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