Vane said, quietly.

"Don't you? Well, I do. Gilmore was stopping back to keep him company,
wasn't he? Well, where is Gilmore? And why is Distie cutting along
so--at such a rate?"

Vane did not reply, and Macey turned to look at him wonderingly.

"Here! Hi! What's the matter?"

Vane started.

"Matter?" he said, "nothing."

"What were you thinking about? Inventing something?"

"Oh, no," said Vane, confusedly. "Well, I was thinking about something
I was making."

"Thought so. Well, I am glad I'm not such a Hobby-Bob sort of a fellow
as you are. Syme says you're a bit of a genius, ever since you made his
study clock go; but you're the worst bowler, batter, and fielder I know;
you're not worth twopence at football; and if one plays at anything else
with you--spins a top, or flies a kite, or anything of that kind--you're
never satisfied without wanting to make the kite carry up a load, or
making one top spin on the top of another, and--"

"Take me altogether, I'm the most cranky, disagreeable fellow you ever
knew, eh?" said Vane, interrupting.

"Show me anyone who says so, and I'll punch his head," cried Macey,
eagerly.

"There he goes. No; he's out of sight now."

"What, old Distie? Pooh! he's nobody, only a creole, and don't count."

The gardener's cottage stood back from the road; its porch covered with
roses, and the little garden quite a blaze of autumn flowers; and as
they reached it, Vane paused for a moment to admire them.

"Hallo!" cried Macey, "going to improve 'em?"

"They don't want it," said Vane, quietly. "I was thinking that you
always see better flowers in cottage gardens than anywhere else."

At that moment the gardener's wife came to the door, smiling at her
visitors, and Vane recollected the object of his visit.

"I've brought you these, Mrs Bruff," he said.

"Toadstools, sir?" said the woman, opening her eyes widely.

"No; don't call them by that name," cried Macey, merrily; "they're
philogustators."

"Kind of potaters, sir?" said the woman, innocently. "Are they for Eben
to grow?"

"No, for you to cook for his tea. Don't say anything, but stew them
with a little water and butter, pepper and salt."

"Oh, thank you, sir," cried the woman. "Are they good?"

"Delicious, if you cook them well."

"Indeed I will, sir. Thank you so much."

She took the basket, and wanted to pay for the present with some
flowers, but the lads would only take a rosebud each, and wen