The farmer began to take Holmes for a master; besides, he wanted to get back to his flock. Corporal punishment was out of the question, the odds were too great; so he began to hint at paying for the damage. Arthur jumped at this, offering to pay anything, and the farmer immediately valued the guinea-hen at half-a-sovereign.

“Half-a-sovereign!” cried East, now released from the farmer’s grip; “well, that is a good one! the old hen ain’t hurt a bit, and she’s seven years old, I know, and as tough as whipcord; she couldn’t lay another egg to save her life.”

It was at last settled that they should pay the farmer two shillings, and his man one shilling, and so the matter ended, to the unspeakable relief of Tom, who hadn’t been able to say a word, being sick at heart at the idea of what the Doctor would think of him: and now the whole party of boys marched off down the footpath towards Rugby. Holmes, who was one of the best boys in the School, began to improve the occasion. “Now, you youngsters,” said he, as he marched along in the middle of them, “mind this; you’re very well out of this scrape. Don’t you go near Thompson’s barn again, do you hear?”

Profuse promises from all, especially East.

“Mind, I don’t ask questions,” went on Mentor, “but I rather think some of you have been there before this after his chickens. Now, knocking over other people’s chickens, and running off with them, is stealing. It’s a nasty word, but that’s the plain English of it. If the chickens were dead and lying in a shop, you wouldn’t take them, I know that, any more than you would apples out of Griffith’s basket; but there’s no real difference between chickens running about and apples on a tree, and the same articles in a shop. I wish our morals were sounder in such matters. There’s nothing so mischievous as these school distinctions, which jumble up right and wrong, and justify things in us for which poor boys would be sent to prison.” And good old Holmes delivered his soul on the walk home of many wise sayings, and, as the song says—

“Gee’d ’em a sight of good advice”—

which same sermon sank into them all, more or less, and very penitent they were for several hours. But truth compels me to admit that East at any rate forgot it all in a week, but remembered the insult which had been put upon him by Farmer Thompson, and with the Tadpole and other hair-brained youngsters, committed a raid on the barn soon afterwards, in which they were caught by the shepherds and severely handled, besides having to pay eight shillings, all the money they had in the world, to escape being taken up to the Doctor.

Martin became a constant inmate in the joint study from this time, and Arthur took to him so kindly that Tom couldn’t resist slight fits of jealousy, which however he managed to keep to himself. The kestrel’s eggs had been broken, strange to say, and formed the nucleus of Arthur’s collection, at which Martin worked heart and soul; and introduced Arthur to Howlett the bird-fancier, and instructed him in the rudiments of the art of stuffing. In token of his gratitude, Arthur allowed Martin to tattoo a small anchor on one of his wrists, which decoration, however, he carefully concealed from Tom. Before the end of the half- year he had trained into a bold climber and good runner, and, as Martin had foretold, knew twice as much about trees, birds, flowers, and many other things, as our good-hearted and facetious young friend Harry East.