eave the crock to tell its own tale. He gave a glance at
David, and saw by the way he had placed his hands on his knees, and
fixed his eyes immovably on Miss Barnicroft, that he had no intention of
either moving or speaking. Ambrose was the elder; it was for him to
take the lead. There were times when Ambrose would cheerfully have
given up all the rights and privileges belonging to that position, and
this was one of them, but he knew that he must make an effort. Father
was waiting outside. They could not sit there in silence any longer.
He must speak.

Seizing the crock, he suddenly rushed up to Miss Barnicroft, held it
out, and said huskily:

"We've come to bring back this!"

David now slid off the box and placed himself gravely at his brother's
side. Miss Barnicroft looked from the boys to the crock with a
satirical light in her eyes.

"And may I ask where you found it?" she said with icy distinctness which
seemed to cut the air like a knife.

"In Rumborough Camp," murmured Ambrose.

"I knew the thief was in your father's parish," said Miss Barnicroft,
"and I'm not surprised to find that it's a boy; but I certainly didn't
suspect the vicar's own son."

"We didn't know the money was yours," broke in David, "and father says
we are not thieves."

"At any rate," returned Miss Barnicroft, fixing him sharply with her
cold light eyes, "you knew it wasn't yours. _I_ was always taught that
to take what was not mine was stealing."

"We thought it was Roman," said David, still undaunted, "and they're all
dead." Then, seeing no reason for staying longer, he added quickly,
"Good-bye! father's waiting for us."

"Oh, really!" said Miss Barnicroft, rising with a short laugh. "Well,
you can give him my compliments, and say that I haven't altered my
opinion of boys, and that I advise him to teach you your catechism,
particularly your duty towards your neighbour."

As the boys made hurriedly for the doorway, she suddenly called to them
in quite a different voice,--"Stay a minute. Won't you have some
ambrosia before you go?"

Ambrose had no idea what ambrosia could be, but he at once concluded
that it was something poisonous.

"No, thank you," he said, pulling David's sleeve to make him refuse too.

"It's honey and goat's milk," said Miss Barnicroft persuasively; "very
delicious. You'd better taste it."

"We'd much rather not, thank you," said Ambrose with a slight shudder,
and in another second he and Davi