dah of the
pavilion you could look over three counties.

Wain's house wore an empty and desolate appearance. There were signs
of activity, however, inside; and a smell of soap and warm water told
of preparations recently completed.

Wyatt took Mike into the matron's room, a small room opening out of
the main passage.

"This is Jackson," he said. "Which dormitory is he in, Miss Payne?"

The matron consulted a paper.

"He's in yours, Wyatt."

"Good business. Who's in the other bed? There are going to be three of
us, aren't there?"

"Fereira was to have slept there, but we have just heard that he is
not coming back this term. He has had to go on a sea-voyage for his
health."

"Seems queer any one actually taking the trouble to keep Fereira in
the world," said Wyatt. "I've often thought of giving him Rough On
Rats myself. Come along, Jackson, and I'll show you the room."

They went along the passage, and up a flight of stairs.

"Here you are," said Wyatt.

It was a fair-sized room. The window, heavily barred, looked out over
a large garden.

"I used to sleep here alone last term," said Wyatt, "but the house is
so full now they've turned it into a dormitory."

"I say, I wish these bars weren't here. It would be rather a rag to
get out of the window on to that wall at night, and hop down into the
garden and explore," said Mike.

Wyatt looked at him curiously, and moved to the window.

"I'm not going to let you do it, of course," he said, "because you'd
go getting caught, and dropped on, which isn't good for one in one's
first term; but just to amuse you----"

He jerked at the middle bar, and the next moment he was standing with
it in his hand, and the way to the garden was clear.

"By Jove!" said Mike.

"That's simply an object-lesson, you know," said Wyatt, replacing the
bar, and pushing the screws back into their putty. "I get out at night
myself because I think my health needs it. Besides, it's my last term,
anyhow, so it doesn't matter what I do. But if I find you trying to
cut out in the small hours, there'll be trouble. See?"

"All right," said Mike, reluctantly. "But I wish you'd let me."

"Not if I know it. Promise you won't try it on."

"All right. But, I say, what do you do out there?"

"I shoot at cats with an air-pistol, the beauty of which is that even
if you hit them it doesn't hurt--simply keeps them bright and
interested in life; and if you miss you've had all the fun anyhow.
Have