e, during which the seedy stranger slunk
away, and disappeared round the corner.

"I ask who is this man you are speaking to?"

"I don't know, sir," answered Valentine.

"Nonsense!" retorted Mr. Westford sharply. "I saw you two boys holding
a conversation with him once before. You must know who he is; answer
my question immediately."

"He told us his name was Hanks," said Jack; "but we don't know him. He
came up and spoke to us of his own accord."

"And, pray, what did he want to speak to you about?"

"I don't know, sir," answered Valentine--"that is--he wanted to beg
some money."

"I don't understand your answer, Fenleigh," replied Mr. Westford. "I
fear you are not telling me the truth--or, at all events, you are
trying to keep something back which ought to come to my knowledge.
There must be some reason for my having twice found you in conversation
with that disreputable-looking fellow. Both of you will not go outside
the school premises for a fortnight without special permission."

Jack stormed and raved, and threatened what he would do if they should
encounter the tramp again; but of the two, Valentine felt the
punishment far more acutely than his cousin. He was not accustomed to
rows; and for a boy with his naturally high sense of honour, the mere
thought that the headmaster suspected him of telling a falsehood was
ten times worse than the fact of being "gated."

The term ran on, and at length the last day arrived; a day of perfect
happiness, with no more work, and a letter by the first post from Queen
Mab, saying that the pony-carriage would meet the train as usual at
Hornalby station. The prize-giving, with the Mayor of Melchester in
the chair, and Augustus Powler, Esq., M.P., and other grandees, upon
the platform, was a very serious and formal business; the Past and
Present match, in which Preston, the coming man in bowling, took seven
wickets, and dear old Clayton, a bygone captain, lifted a ball over the
roof of the pavilion, was certainly more interesting; but, at all
events, in the opinion of all those concerned, the chief event of the
day was the annual supper of the Fifth Form Literary Society.

"Come along," cried Tinkleby, as the cheers which greeted a win for the
Present were gradually dying away--"come along. I told Duster to have
the grub ready at half-past five sharp, and it's a quarter to six."

"Shan't we get into a row for cutting tea?" asked Jack.

"No fear," answered the ot