lonely game of cricket down in the
paddock by himself. But even with a brand-new cricket ball this
game palls after a time when one has to bowl and bat and backstop
in solitary state. So presently he put his bat over into the garden,
and began to throw the ball about in an aimless fashion, while he
cogitated on what he should do next. His father's hack was standing
away at the farther end of the paddock, and in an idle, thoughtless
way Bunty sauntered down towards it, and then sent his ball spinning
over the ground in its direction "to give it a jump." Nothing was
further from his thoughts than an idea of hurting the animal, and
when the ball struck it full on the leg, and it moved away limping,
he hastened down to it, white and anxious.

He could see he had done serious mischief by the way the poor
thing held its leg up from the ground and quivered when he touched
it. Terror seized him forthwith, and he turned hastily round with
his usual idea of hiding in his head. But to his utter dismay,
when he got half-way back across the paddock he saw his father and
a brother officer come out of the wicket gate leading from the
garden and saunter slowly down in the direction of the horse,
which was a valuable and beautiful one.

In terror at what he had done, he slipped the cricket ball into the
front of his sailor jacket, and, falling hurriedly upon his
knees, began playing an absorbing game of marbles. His trembling
thumb had hit about a dozen at random when he heard his name called
in stentorian tones.

He rose, brushed the dust from his shaking knees, and walked slowly
down to his father.

"Go and tell Pat I want him instantly," the Captain said. He
had the horse's leg in his hand and was examining it anxiously.
"If he's not about, send Pip. I can't think how it's happened--do
you know anything of this, Bunty?"

"No, of course not! I n--never did n--n--nothing," Bunty said with
chattering teeth, but his father was too occupied to notice his
evident guilt, and bade him go at once.

So he went up to the stables and sent Pat posthaste back to his
father.

And then he stole into the house, purloined two apples and a bit
of cake from the dining-room, and went away to be utterly miserable
until he had confessed.

He crept into a disused shed some distance from the house; in days
gone by it had been a stable, and had a double loft over it that
was only to be reached by a ladder in the last stage of dilapidation