that
Waller R. A. wouldn't look at the cottage without the tree? What's to
prevent the old woman living on where she is? Do you think there'll be
a rush of new tenants for that precious old hovel? Go on! You know
better than that!"

"But the tree, Carnaby, the plum tree!" cried Lavendar. "My young
Goth, hadn't you a moment's compunction? That beautiful, flowering
thing, as your cousin called it; could you destroy it without a
pang?"

"The _tree_?" echoed Carnaby with unmeasured scorn. "What's a tree?
It's just a tree, isn't it?"

"A primrose by a river's brim
A yellow primrose was to him,
And it was nothing more!"

quoted Mark, despairingly.

"Well; and what more did he expect of a primrose, whoever the Johnny
was?" asked the contemptuous Carnaby.

"At any rate," commented Lavendar, "it isn't necessary to search as
far as Peter Bell for an analogy for your character, my young friend!
You are your grandmother's grandson after all!"

"In some ways I suppose I can't help being," answered Carnaby soberly,
"but not in all," he added, and suddenly turning red he fumbled in his
pocket and produced a coin which he held out to Lavendar. "It's only
ten bob," he said apologetically, "and I wish it was a jolly sight
more! But please give it to old Mrs. Prettyman to make up a bit for
the loss of her plums. Daresay I'll manage some more by and by.
Anyway, I'll make it up to her when I come of age.--I'm nearly sixteen
already, you know. Be sure you tell her that!"

But Lavendar refused to take the money.

"Mrs. Prettyman is provided for, my boy," he said. "She has become
your cousin's especial care. You need have no fear about that. The
poor old woman is very happy and will have a cottage more suited for
her rheumatism and her general feebleness than the present one. But I
think your cousin will understand your motives and believe that you
meant well by old Lizzie in your little piece of midnight madness."

"Though I was a bit rough on the plum tree!" said Carnaby, with a
broad smile.

"You think it's a laughing matter?" Lavendar asked indignantly. "I
wish you had my father to deal with, and Waller R. A.! It's all very
well for you."

But Carnaby only laughed. The blood was still hot in his veins, and
the joy of his night's adventure. Mark told him that he and Mrs.
Loring were crossing the river at once to see for themselves the
extent of his mischief and w