he heading of an offence against the realm. I shall
have to report it. Give me your names and addresses."

The three young Forresters looked at one another in dismay.

"This is absurd!" burst out Lorraine. "We came to get a few ferns,
that's all. They're wild, and surely taking a root or two isn't an
offence against the realm?"

"You've been found in a forbidden area in a military zone," returned the
special constable pompously. "I'm stationed here to guard the tunnel,
and I shall report you. If you don't give me your names and addresses, I
shall have to arrest you."

Very unwillingly the Forresters complied, and watched the incriminating
details being jotted down in an official notebook.

"Our father is a town councillor," ventured Lorraine, hoping for
vicarious favour.

"That makes it so much the worse, for you ought to know better," was the
uncompromising reply. "Take yourselves off at once, and mind you never
come trespassing here again!"

Crestfallen, but trying to preserve the family dignity, the Forresters
beat a retreat. They scorned to run, and walked leisurely up the bank,
while the special constable covered them with his eye. Monica had an
uneasy suspicion that they might also be covered with a revolver, and,
though she would not for worlds have shown a qualm of fear before
Mervyn, she was nevertheless considerably relieved when she found
herself upon the safe side of the fence.

"Strafe the old chap and his jaw-wag!" exploded Mervyn. "A nice mess
he's got us into with his fussy interference!"

"Do you think he'll really report us?" asked Lorraine anxiously.

Her spirits were down at zero. Her father was strict, and would be very
angry with them for getting into trouble. A scene at home loomed large
on the horizon. In imagination she saw the affair reported in the local
newspaper. A nice position truly for the head girl at The Gables to
begin the new term by covering herself with disgrace.

Mervyn strode along whistling with amused sang-froid, but inwardly
absorbed in unpleasant contemplation. Monica clutched the fern basket
half-defiantly.

Rounding a corner suddenly, they nearly collided with a thin little
gentleman who was coming uphill at top speed.

"So sorry!" apologized Lorraine. "Why, it's Uncle Barton! Where are you
going, Uncle?"

"On special constable duty, worse luck, for it's a damp evening, and
I've a bad cold in the head," he replied. "But I've got to relieve
somebody else."