pity that poor Aunt Charlotte should have been disappointed, and
certainly that locking of her up in her bedroom had been a very
painful duty; but if it was necessary--as it was--what else could he
have done? No doubt she would forgive him when she understood his
reasons; and, after all, it was really her own fault for having been
so obstinate.

It was now half-past ten, and Austin had no intention of getting home
before it was time for lunch. He had thus the whole morning before
him, and he spent it rambling about the moors, struggling up hills,
revelling in the heat tempered by cool grass, and wondering how
Daphnis would have behaved if he had had an unreasonable old aunt to
take care of; for Aunt Charlotte was really a great responsibility,
and dreadfully difficult to manage. Then, coming on a deep, clear
rivulet which ran between two meadows, he yielded to a sudden impulse,
and, stripping himself to the skin, plunged into it, wooden leg and
all. There he floated luxuriously for a while, the sun blazing
fiercely overhead, and the cool waters playing over his white body.
When he emerged, covered with sparkling drops, he remembered that he
had no towel; so there was nothing to be done but to stagger about and
disport himself like a naked faun among the buttercups and bulrushes,
until the sun had dried him. As soon as he was dressed, he looked at
his watch, and found that it was nearly twelve. Then he consulted a
little time-table, and made a rapid calculation. It would take him
just half-an-hour to reach the station from where he was, and
therefore it was high time to start.

Off he set, and arrived there, as it seemed, at a moment of great
excitement. The station-master was on the platform, in the act of
posting up a telegram, around which a number of people--travellers,
porters, and errand-boys--were crowding eagerly. Austin joined the
group, and read the message carefully and deliberately twice through.
He asked no questions, but listened to the remarks he heard around
him. Then he passed rapidly through the booking-office, and struck out
on his way home.

Meantime Aunt Charlotte had passed the hours fuming. To her, Austin's
extraordinary behaviour was absolutely unaccountable, except on the
hypothesis that he was not responsible for his actions. Her rage was
beyond control. That the boy should have had the unheard-of audacity
to lock her up in her own bedroom in order to gratify some mad whim,
and so have upse