and his rough, though for the most part good natured,
schoolboy comrades showed their sympathy in allowing him to go his own
ways. Just then "Foxes" and "Eagles" had buried the hatchet, owing to
the fact that a spell of hot weather had set in, and the members of
both "tribes" went amicably, nearly every day, to bathe in a
neighbouring stream.

The majority of the boarders were thus engaged one afternoon, and Miles
and I had the playground to ourselves. We were sitting on a seat under
a shady tree, and something perhaps in the restful quiet of the place
encouraged my companion to unburden himself and take me into his
confidence. I had noticed a troubled look on his face, and inquired
whether anything was weighing on his mind.

"Yes," he replied. "Look here, Sylvester, old fellow, I'm sure there's
something wrong at home that I don't quite understand. Mr. Denny, our
lawyer, has been there with my mother, and they haven't told me what is
the matter, but they seem to be afraid of something or somebody, and I
believe it's Uncle Nicholas."

"Why? has he shown any signs of ill-will?"

"No; if anything, he's appeared more friendly than he has been since I
can remember. He came over to Coverthorne the day after the funeral,
and said he was sorry that he and my father had quarrelled; that there
had probably been mistakes on both sides, but he was glad now to think
that all the misunderstanding had been cleared away before James's
death, and that they had mutually agreed the past should be forgiven
and forgotten. My uncle must have noticed the surprised look on my
mother's face, as she knew of no such reconciliation; and he went on to
explain that he and my father had agreed not to make it public till
next Christmas Day, when they intended to dine together. 'There's
another matter which was to have been mentioned then,' he went on. 'I
won't broach the subject now. After the terrible shock, you aren't in
a fit state to be bothered with business. We'll leave it for a few
weeks.'"

"I must say I didn't like the look of that man when I saw him," I
muttered; "his face seemed hard and cruel."

"My mother mistrusts him too, and so does Mr. Denny. I can tell that
by the way in which they speak about him."

For some moments Miles remained silent, scraping patterns in the gravel
with the heel of his boot.

"Look here. You're an old friend whom I know I can trust, Sylvester,"
he exclaimed suddenly. "I'm sure if I tel