reys shook his head sadly.

"I can't," he said. "If he's dead--"

"Oh, he's dead," put in Jonah; "I can tell you that."

Jeffreys gave one scared look at the speaker, and then hurried from the
room.

Mrs Trimble followed him up to his room.

"I don't believe it all," said she; "you never did it on purpose, you're
not so bad as that. I won't believe it even if you tell me," said the
good lady, bursting into tears.

Jeffreys put together his few books and garments.

"You're going," said she, "of course. It's no use hoping you won't.
Here's two pounds you're owed--and--"

Jeffreys took the money, and kept her hand for a moment in his.

"You are kind," said he hoarsely. "Good-bye, Mrs Trimble."

He kissed her hand and took up his bundle.

At the foot of the stairs a boy's hand was laid on his arm.

"Oh, Jeff," whispered Teddy--he had stolen out of the schoolroom. "Poor
Jeff! I know you aren't wicked. Say good-bye, Jeff. What shall we do?
What shall we do?"

"Good-bye, little chap," said Jeffreys, stooping down and kissing the
boy's wet cheek.

"But, Jeff, where are you going? When will you--?"

Jeffreys was gone.

In the schoolroom meanwhile the inevitable reaction had taken place.

As the door closed behind Jeffreys, Jonah, hardly knowing what he did,
gave vent to a hysterical laugh.

It was the signal for an explosion such as he had little counted on.

"Thou little dirty toad!" said the farmer, rounding on him wrathfully;
"what dost mean by that? Hey? For shame!"

"Beast!" shouted Freddy, choking with anger and misery.

"Beast!" echoed the school.

Some one threw a wet sponge across the room, but Mr Rosher intercepted
it.

"Nay, nay, lads; don't waste your clean things on him. Freddy and
Teddy, my lads--where's Teddy?--come along home. You've done with
Galloway House."

"Why, sir--" expostulated the wretched Jonah.

"Hold thy tongue again," roared the farmer. "Coom away, lads. Thee can
take a half-holiday to-day, all of you, and if thy parents ask why, say
Farmer Rosher will tell them."

"I'll have you prosecuted," growled Trimble, "for interfering with my--"

"Dost want to be shut up in yon cupboard?" roared the hot-headed farmer.
And the hint was quite enough.

Galloway House on that day turned a corner. Farmer Rosher, who had sore
doubts in his own mind whether he had done good or harm by his
interference, spoke his mind freely to his neighbours on the subject of
Jon