"Was sorry to intrude, but really could not think of taking the liberty of ringing up his servants again, and so had come to fetch the ball for himself," and with another bow quietly picked up the ball, and swarmed back again.

The boys listened a few minutes, expecting a storm, but no storm came. They recommenced their game, and were soon once more in the spirit of it, so passing a quiet half-hour until over went the ball once more, and up went St. John once more.

But this time, to use his own expression, it was "no go." Mr. Dobbs sat majestic and indifferent; but the gardener was on the path underneath armed with an uplifted pitchfork, upon which even St. John Kelso did not think it worth while to spring for the sake of a ball, whilst there was the ball lying within a stone's throw on the grass. In vain he dodged and feigned, the gardener's spirit was raised as high as his own; for had not the young gentleman trampled down his best tulips ? although the goodhearted man had forborne to tell master of it, for fear of getting "the young gentleman" into real trouble. To crown St. John's rage, there sat Mr. Dobbs calmly giggling at his discomfiture. The cadet saw there was no chance of success, so he did the wisest thing that he had done that day, succumbed as soon as he found that he was exposing himself to needless and profitless derison.

No sooner was he down again than there came a bland voice over the wall,

"Your ball is safe in my pocket, young gentleman, and will remain there at my pleasure," and the boys heard Mr. Dobbs whistle as he walked away.

"Horrid old sneak!" cried Will.

"What could you expect better from such a snob ?" said St. John, trying, but not a little crestfallen, to speak carelessly, "thief is too good a name for him; but I'll have my revenge-if I could but tell whether he's under that apple-tree still!"

"Ah, the yard pump," cried Will, "come along, I shall feel better when I've shied a stone at him."

"A rotten egg," suggested the cadet,-"no, my element shall be water, Gordon's squirt, you know, the very thing! what fun!" and his face rising as many degrees as it had lately fallen, off the boys rushed to the yard, and clambered up the old pump, the top of which afforded a lodgment for one foot only of each.

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"There he is, jolly!" cried St. John, rubbing his hands with glee, "you must let me have first shot." No, no," cried Will, "I've brought up the water and it's mine," and off went a shower at the old gentleman's head.

The boys popped down their own heads, laughing so much that it is a wonder they did not fall upon the stones beneath. Then they raised their ears to the top of the wall and listened.

"I tell you, Anne, it is!" was the first speech that reached them, and one spoken in very testy tones.

No, indeed, grandfather, there is not a drop on my book."

"Look at my cap then, I tell you that a shower is coming on."

"The cap's off, the three-and-eightpenny wig bare," bubbled St. John in an ecstasy, and seizing the squirt he discharged a second shower. In the hurry, however, it hit a branch of the apple-tree just above Mr. Dobbs's head, whence it dripped in a gentle shower.

"There, you can't deny it now, Anne," as the drops fell on her shoulder as well as his own, must come in."

we

"But it is not raining," persisted Anne, "now Andrew," to the gardener, "is it ?"

"Lor bless you no, miss, most likely it's that impudent young gentleman as came over the wall, at another of his tricks." Down went the boys' heads again at this, though they listened as well as their laughter would allow them.

"That audacious young vagabond," cried Mr. Dobbs, starting up, "yes! why it's not raining one bit! I'll teach them to treat me in this way, I'll tell Mr. Wynne of 'em, that I will, impudent young scoundrels," and here St. John being utterly unable to resist the temptation of a third discharge, poor Mr. Dobbs became inarticulate with rage; but advancing rather in the right direction, the boys scuttled down like shots, and took refuge in the kitchen.

"Now, young gentlemen, what mischief have you been after ?" asked the faithful Hannah, who had been upper housemaid for fifteen years, trying to look grim but succeeding very badly, for can any boys plague a maid out of loving them ten times better than their well-behaved sisters ?

"Mischief ?" asked St. John, opening his blue eyes, and looking supremely innocent, "do I look like a person who's any mischief in me now ?" and they passed on, rushing laughing up the stairs to prepare for the schoolroom tea.

Whilst they were at it, all laughing and talking to their heart's content, David cried out, " Why if there isn't that horrid Mr. Dobbs walking up the drive."

"Don't call it walking," corrected St. John, with a presence of mind that would have been admirable in a nobler cause, and has served him in far nobler stead long before now, "it's nothing but a manner of progression, composed of equal parts of strut and waddle; how I wish he'd go into the militia and we could have him out to drill, what fun we should have!"

Mr. Kelso forgot that an officer in the Essex militia would scarcely be drilled on Woolwich common, even to gratify the supercilious amusement of a future lieutenant in the artillery itself.

"What can he want ?" cried Laura, going to the door and opening a cranny just as Louisa opened the front door.

"Is Mr. Wynne at home ?" was asked by a voice spluttering with rage.

"No, sir."

"When do you expect him ?"

("Imperative mood present tense," commented St. John, "now I wouldn't speak to a dog so.")

"Not for ten minutes, I daresay, sir," answered Louisa, who we cannot help suspecting had seen the boys on the pump.

"Then I'll wait for him," cried Mr. Dobbs pushing in: "I will wait for him, I say.'

"No one refused you, old gent," whistled St. John contemptuously, as. Louisa ushered Mr. Dobbs into the parlour, which Mrs. Wynne and Barbara had left to dress for dinner, and which would not be occupied again that night.

In less than five minutes, however, Mr. Wynne came up the flags, Paul with him. "Mr. Dobbs is waiting for you, sir, in the parlour."

"Mr. Dobbs ?" repeated wearied Mr. Wynne, "what can he want with me ?" and he turned into the parlour, whilst Paul went up to his room.

We must own that Will, and even St. John awaited the result of that conference a little anxiously. In five minutes, however, Mr. Wynne was courteously showing his guest out, saying quietly, "Yes, I assure you, Mr. Dobbs, that I will make inquiry."

"Sir, I insist that you do," spluttered Mr. Dobbs, still choking with rage, "if a British subject is to be insulted on his own grounds

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Anywhere he can be caught if he's such as you," commented St. John.

"Am I not to sit under my own apple-tree in peace ?"

"Yes, yes, my dear sir," said poor Mr. Wynne, trying to bow his visitor out.

"Then, sir, I trust the cause of justice to your hands: I might, you know, hand your sons over to the police."

"Wheugh!" whistled St. John contemptuously, "what a genteel thing to do even in imagination!"

At length Mr. Dobbs was seen going down the steps, had emerged upon the green, and Mr. Wynne shut the door with a sigh of relief, too faint, however, for Will and St. John to hear it, though they were watching anxiously to ascertain which way his steps would turn. Up stairs, so they were relieved for a time. They went into the drawing-room at eight with a little reluctance, but not a word was breathed of Mr. Dobbs; nor was there till Sunday evening, when after supper there was a little lull whilst Isabella was finding Rossini's Stabat Mater, for which Hargrave had asked.

"Oh, sir," said Paul, suddenly, "What did Mr. Dobbs want with you yesterday ?"

"Hang you!" mentally ejaculated St. John.

"Me? oh some absurd nonsense, he was so angry I could not make out what. Some complaint of my sons watering his apple-tree and himself with a wateringpot, as far as I could discover," and Mr. Wynne smiled, "ah, but by the by, I promised to make inquiries," and he roused himself and sat up. grave," this son being nearest, "no such thing went on on Saturday ?"

"Har

"Oh dear no, sir," answered Hargrave, quite insulted at the idea.

Isabella struck her opening chord, St. John clapped his hands under the table-cover, Will's cheek as he bent over his book was deep crimson, and thus the matter passed till the boys went up to bed.

"What a confounded sneak,” said St. John. "Horrid! and my new ball," exclaimed Will, ruefully.

"We will have it back, or we'll plague the old fellow out of his life," pursued St. John, who had that afternoon's defeat to avenge; "does he sit under his apple-tree in complacent cockneyism every afternoon ? I feel sure he does," St. John had a habit of believing every thing he wished; "then we'll pay him off."

"That we will; when I went so civilly to ask for