an open
carriage with the Doctor, Wrench closing the door of each vehicle, and
confiding to each party as it started that he wished it had been his
luck to go as well; but he was going to enjoy himself that day by having
a regular good polish at the Doctor's plate.

Strongley was reached in good time, the wickets were pitched, and the
enemy, as the boys called them, made such a poor score in their innings
that they had to follow on to another failure, the result being that the
Doctor's pupils beat them in one innings, and drove back to Plymborough
cheering madly.

As it happened, during the return, Glyn and Singh were separated; Glyn
being in the first wagonette and reaching Plymborough a good half-hour
before the last one, in which Singh rode.

Hurrying up to his room for a good wash and change, to get it over
before Singh returned, the first thing that caught the boy's eyes was
Singh's little bunch of keys hanging from the lock of the bullock-trunk
in the corner.

Glyn was in such high spirits that the sight of the bunch set him
laughing.

"Well, of all the untrustworthy fellows I ever knew," he said, "poor old
Singh's about the worst."

Crossing to the trunk, he raised the lid, which yielded easily to his
hand, banged it down again, turned the key, and put the bunch in the
pocket of his flannel trousers ready to transfer to his ordinary
garments when he dressed.

He had just finished when a burst of cheering and the rattle of wheels
announced the coming of the last wagonette; and soon after, tired and
hungry, Singh came up, to help fill the corridor with a chorus of
chattering, and then hurriedly went on for his change of dress.

Then followed the supper the Doctor gave them, and, later on, the bell
for prayers and rest.

"Hope you haven't lost your keys," said Glyn, as they began to undress,
utterly wearied out.

"Lost my keys! Why should I lose my keys?" said Singh with a yawn.
"Here they are! No, they are not! I left them in my flannels."

"Nice fellow you are to take care of your things!" said Glyn, as his
companion limped across the room to where he had thrown his dusty and
green-marked cricketing suit--anyhow--upon a chair.

"Oh, murder!" he said. "I am so stiff. I can hardly move, and my right
hand feels all bruised and strained; but I say, Glynny, I hardly missed
a ball; and didn't I play old gooseberry with some of their stumps?"

"Yes, we must have rather astonished them," cried Glyn.