for the squire was frowning, and Dick turning pale and red by turns.

"Look here," said the squire suddenly; "I cannot, and I will not, have
unpleasantness of this kind in my house. I must speak plainly, Marston.
You suspect my boy of firing your men's huts last night?"

"I am very sorry, Mr Winthorpe, and I do it unwillingly, but
appearances are very much against him."

"They are," said the squire gravely.

"I like Dick; I always did like Dick," said the engineer; "and it seems
to me horrible to have to suspect such a lad as he is; but put yourself
in my place, Mr Winthorpe. Can you be surprised?"

"I am not surprised, Mr Marston," said Mrs Winthorpe, rising and going
to her son's side. "Dick was out last night skating with Tom here over
the thin ice, and of course it must have been a very light person to
cross last night in skates; but you are mistaken. My boy would not
commit such a cowardly crime."

The moment before, Dick, who was half-stunned by the accusation, and
ready to give up in despair, leaped to his feet and flung his arms about
his mother's waist. His eyes flashed and the colour flushed right up
into his brows as he kissed her passionately again and again.

"You are right," said the squire. "But speak out, Dick. You did not do
this dastardly thing?"

"No, father," said Dick, meeting his eyes boldly. "I couldn't."

"There, Marston," said the squire; "and I will not insult Tom Tallington
by accusing him."

"Oh, no, father! we were together all the time."

"But I say," cried Tom, "old Dave said it was a chap in skates who set
fire to his place, and he couldn't follow him over the ice."

"Yes; I'd forgotten," cried Dick, "and he shot at him."

"Then I am wrong once more, Dick," said Mr Marston. "I beg your
pardon. Will you forgive me?"

"Of course I will, Mr Marston," said Dick huskily, as he took the
extended hand; "but I don't think you ought to be so ready to think ill
of me."

"And I say the same, Mr Marston," said Mrs Winthorpe. "My boy is
wilful, and he may have been a bit mischievous, but he could not be
guilty of such cowardly tricks as these."

"No," said Tom, with his mouth full of pork-pie; "of course he could
not. Dick isn't a coward!"

"I humbly apologise, Mrs Winthorpe," said Marston, smiling, "and you
must forgive me. A man who has been shot at has his temper spoiled."

"Say no more, Marston, my lad," said the squire warmly; "we all forgive
you, and--breakfa