ain, and the brilliant colours of the
hollyhocks beside the wall.

I saw Jane there, and my heart swelled with disappointment and rage--for
she was not alone!

Too late I repented my confidence to Angel; I might have known that he
would never let the grass grow under his feet till he had tasted this new
excitement. Well, he had not let the grass grow.

Jane, I remember, had on a pale blue sash, and a fluffy white frock,
beneath the frills of which, her slender black silk legs moved airily. By
her side sauntered the traitorous Angel, his head bent toward her tenderly,
and, most sickening of all, pushing before him, with an air of
proprietorship, the perambulator containing the doll, Dorothea. Jane was
simpering up at him in a way she had never looked at me.

I saw at a glance that all was over, yet I was not to be cast aside thus
lightly. I strode across the garden, and, pushing myself between them, I
laid my hand masterfully on the handle of the "pram," beside Angel's.
Neither of them uttered a word. So the three of us walked for a space in
tense silence.

Then, suddenly, Angel began to hammer my hand with his fist.

"You let go of that!" he snarled. "Ge--tout of here!"

"I won't!" I roared tragically. "She said I was the fa-ather of it!"

"She did not!" yelled Angel. "I'm the father!"

Jenny glanced fearfully at the windows of the Bishop's house. All was
silent there. Then, with a scornful little kick at me, she said--"Go 'way,
you nasty boy! _I_ don't want you. I only like Angel."

There was nothing more to be said. I hung my head, and, with a sob in my
throat, turned away. I could hear them whispering behind me.

Before I reached our own yard Angel came running after me.

"Tell you what I'll do, John," he said, as he came abreast, "tell you what
I'll do--I'll fight you for her. Like knights of old, you know. We could go
down to the coal cellar, and have a reg'lar tourney. It'd be bully fun. We
could have pokers for lances. Say, will you?"

I was not in a fighting mood, but I had never refused a challenge, and,
somehow, the thought of bloodshed eased my pain a little. So,
half-reluctantly, I followed him, as he eagerly led the way to the coal
cellar.

Even on this August day it was cold down there. Long cobwebs trailed,
spectre-like from the beams, and a faint squeaking of young mice could be
heard in the walls.

We searched among the debris of years for suitable weapons. Finally,
brandishing pokers,