It was no other than Peter Perry's dog, Bounce.

"I wanted her to give me the character of a servant, Jane Fry, who has offered herself to me as a plain cook. Please tell your Mother I will write."

"Oh, yes, I will! I knew Jane was looking out for a situation as a cook. She thinks she should be earning higher wages than we pay her, and Mother thinks so, too. I'm so sorry Mother isn't here, but she won't be away long, I know. Wouldn't you like to come in and wait for her?"

Miss Perry thanked Nellie for her suggestion, and said that she would. Accordingly, she and her nephew, both looking very smiling, entered the house. As Nellie ushered them along the passage and into the little used drawing-room, Tom slipped by them and out of the front door, which he closed after him with a bang.

"Nellie doesn't care how badly I'm served," he told himself, wrathfully; "it's nothing to her how I'm slighted and insulted! Just because Miss Perry smiled at her and spoke pleasantly, she was won over at once. She won't like it when she finds I'm gone! Serve her right! Did she expect me to stay and be civil to Peter Perry, I wonder? I longed—yes, longed—to kick him out of the house!"

He took his cap from one of his coat-pockets, where he often kept it, put it on his head, and walked away in the direction of the country, never pausing till he found himself in the wood through which he had passed with Tim but a few hours before. There he flung himself full length on the mossy ground under the welcome shade of a huge beech tree, and gave himself up to nursing his grievances. He felt exceedingly annoyed with Nellie.

"And I had intended to spend the whole afternoon with her, and to be as nice and kind to her as I could possibly be," he reflected; "but of course she didn't know that. I wonder what she'll talk about to those Perrys! Oh, dear, I do wish I had Tim with me for company; he's with Mother, I expect."

It was a very hot afternoon, and by and by Tom began to feel very drowsy. His eyes had closed, and he was nearly asleep when the excited "Yap, yap, yap!" of a dog sounded not far distant, and he sat up quickly, suddenly very wide awake indeed. Could it be Tim he heard? No, that was not Tim's voice, but one much deeper. Nearer it came, then a rabbit scudded close by him, pursued by an Irish terrier—no other than Peter Perry's dog, Bounce.

"Bounce! Bounce!" cried Tom, springing to his feet. "He has got off by himself," he thought; "I suppose I'd better try to catch him and take him home. It won't do to leave him here, perhaps to get trapped."

By this time the dog had disappeared. A few minutes later, Tom discovered him digging at a rabbit hole, and knew he had lost his quarry; he was without a collar, and in a great state of heat.

"I don't know why I should bother to take him home," Tom muttered, as he stood watching him; "and I don't suppose he would follow me. Here, Bounce, Bounce!"

But Bounce took no notice. He continued digging, now and again uttering a whine of excitement, and pausing occasionally to sniff into the hole to assure himself the rabbit was still there. Tom searched his pockets and found a piece of string; he looked at it with a frown.

"I could lead him by this," he thought, "but I won't—no, I won't! I won't interfere with him, and I hope—yes, I hope he will stay here for hours, so that his master will think he is lost! I will mind my own business! I will let the dog go! Dig away, Bounce, to your heart's content!"

He turned on his heel and walked off. Half an hour later he arrived at home. As he shut the front door behind him, Nellie came downstairs. "Oh, why did you go away?" she cried. "I'm so sorry you did! Listen! You mustn't be angry with Peter Perry any longer! He didn't see you—he couldn't see you, because—oh, isn't it sad?— because he is blind—quite, quite blind!"

CHAPTER V

LOST—AND FOUND AGAIN

PETER PERRY was blind! Tom, startled and immeasurably shocked, could scarcely credit it till his mother had added her testimony to Nellie's, and explained that the afflicted boy had been blind from birth.

"Isn't it dreadfully sad?" said Nellie, surprised at the silence with which her brother had taken the information she had given him, and little guessing the tumult of emotions which were stirring in his breast.

"Yes," he assented, adding, "Oh, I wish I'd known this before!"

"I didn't tell him you believed he had kept on cutting you," Nellie remarked; "I thought there was no need to do that. Everything's explained now that we know he's blind."

During tea the conversation was mostly about Miss Perry and her nephew, but Tom took little part in it. By listening he learnt all he desired to know. Mrs. Burford had returned shortly after he had left the house, it appeared, and Nellie had talked to Peter whilst her mother answered the questions Miss Perry had put concerning Jane.

"I never spoke to anyone who was blind before," Nellie observed by and by; "I'm sure Peter Perry doesn't look blind, does he, Mother?"

"No, my dear," Mrs. Burford replied; "his eyes are not disfigured in any way."

"What's wrong with them?" asked Tom.

"There is something amiss with the nerves at the back of them," Mrs. Burford answered; "I don't quite understand what it is, but whatever it is, is incurable."

"He will never be able to see as long as he lives," said Nellie, very solemnly; "he told me so himself."

"Did he seem much cut up about it?" inquired Tom.

Nellie shook her head. "He seemed quite bright and happy," she said. "I like him ever so much. He made me promise to speak to him when we meet out of doors, and, of course, I shall."

Later, when Tom was alone with his sister, he began, with a note of severity in his voice, "Now tell me all you said to Peter Perry, Nellie. Did you mention that shilling?"

"Yes," she admitted, "I did, because I wanted to hear what he had to say. I told him how upset you had been about it, and he was awfully, awfully sorry—you thought he was, didn't you? Of course, if he had seen you it wouldn't have happened—he wouldn't have dreamed of giving you money, I mean. He said he'd like to be friends with us, if we didn't mind, and I promised to speak to you about it. The next time you meet him do tell him you're willing to be friends!"

"Perhaps I will. What else did he talk about?"

"Oh, about dogs, and motor-cars, and—and I told him I'd never ridden in a motor-car in my life, and I believe he's going to ask his aunt to take me for a drive in hers one day—he said he would. Then he told me about himself. He has no sisters or brothers, and his mother's dead, but he has a father who's coming to fetch him at the end of September. He says it's dull visiting at Halcyon Villa, though his aunt is very, very kind to him, but she's so afraid some harm will come to him that she will hardly let him out of her sight. So it was just as I guessed, you see, though of course I didn't think he was blind."

Tom made no response to this, nor did he ask any more questions. The next morning, after going with his father to the bank, he decided he would take Tim for a stroll past Halcyon Villa, and then, if he should happen to see Peter Perry, he would speak to him. "Bounce ought to have had a good thrashing when he got home last night," he reflected, as, on nearing Miss Perry's pretty, creeper-covered house, he motioned Tim to keep to heel, "but I don't expect he did. If I see his master I shall tell him where he went and what he was doing."

But he did not carry out this intention. Peter Perry was in the garden, as it happened; he heard Tom's footsteps halt at the gate, and quickly made his way to it. "Who is it?" he inquired.

"Tom Burford," was the response.

Peter promptly opened the gate and asked Tom to come in; but the invitation was politely declined. "I'm afraid you're still angry with me!" Peter remarked, regretfully.

"No, indeed I'm not," Tom assured him. "But I won't come in, thank you, for I've Tim with me, and he'd be sure to fight with Bounce."

"Bounce is not here," Peter said, sadly; "we don't know what has become of him. He's lost."

"Lost?" gasped Tom.

"Yes, lost," Peter replied. "He was left chained to his kennel in the yard yesterday afternoon, so that he shouldn't follow Aunt Harriet and me," he quickly explained, "and somehow he managed to get his head out of his collar—it couldn't have been tight enough, I suppose— and went off by himself. He hasn't come back yet, and I'm afraid that either he's been stolen or trapped—"

"Oh, don't think that he's been trapped!" Tom broke in; "that would be too awful! I—I—oh, dear, what can I do?" His voice was tremulous and full of distress.

"There isn't anything you can do, thank you," Peter answered gratefully; "Aunt Harriet has sent a description of Bounce to the police and told them he's lost, and she's ordered bills to be printed, offering a pound reward to any one who finds him—they are to be posted out over the town. You'll come in now, won't you?"

But Tom declined again. "I'll go on to the woods," he said; "if Bounce is anywhere there it's just possible Tim may find him."

Nothing of the kind happened, however, and two hours later found Tom, who had searched the woods in vain, in the high road by Hatwell Green. He was feeling very unhappy, oppressed as he was with the guilty knowledge that he was, in a manner, responsible for the loss of the blind boy's dog.

"I ought to have taken him home to his master yesterday," he thought; "I could have if I'd liked. I knew he might get shot by a gamekeeper or caught in a trap, and I left him to take his chance out of spite."

Tom had been taught the golden rule—to do unto others as he would they should do unto him, but yesterday, alas! he had disregarded it, and now he was bitterly ashamed of himself. Oh, what a mean spirit he had shown.

The gipsies were still encamped at Hatwell Green; and to-day Moses Lee was at home, seated on the steps of his caravan, making clothes-pegs. Tom entered into conversation with him, and told him all about Bounce, even confessing that he had allowed the dog to remain in the woods to follow his own devices.

"Do you think you could find the rabbit hole where you left him?" Moses inquired, after the boy had finished his tale.

"Oh, yes!" Tom answered; "it's close to that big beech tree by the gate at the entrance to the woods, in a bit of old hedge full of rabbit holes. I've been there to-day—not that I thought I should find him there, of course. I dare say after he'd grown tired of digging he wandered miles away."

"My wife and little maid have gone into Chilaton," the gipsy remarked, changing the conversation; "we're off to-morrow, all of us. Zingra won't forget that dog of yours'—nodding at Tim; you'd best keep an eye on him or he will be lost, too!"

This was meant as a joke, of course, and Tom laughed, but only half-heartedly. He was moving on, when the gipsy called after him: "A pound reward, I think you said, young gentleman?"

"Yes," Tom assented, "and the address is Halcyon Villa."

"I wish I could earn that pound!" exclaimed the man, looking thoughtful.

"I wish you could!" Tom answered, fervently.

He saw no one as he passed Halcyon Villa on his backward journey, which he made as quickly as possible. On his arrival at home Nellie met him at the front door, a flush of excitement on her cheeks: "Oh, Tom, here you are at last!" she cried; "where have you been all the morning? I've been out with Mother, and what do you think? Peter Perry has lost his dog. There are notices in a lot of shop windows saying so, and offering a pound reward to any one who finds him, and— oh, you know all about it."

"I've seen Peter Perry, and he told me," Tom replied, gloomily; "he's awfully cut up."

"Oh, he would be. What do you think can have become of Bounce?"

Tom shook his head. "I've spent the morning in searching for him in the woods," he said; "but I've come across no sign of him."

"But he mayn't have gone to the woods."

"Oh, yes—that is, I feel sure he would. I'm afraid something must have happened to him, or he wouldn't have stayed out all night."

"I'm afraid so, too. Oh, it's dreadful! Poor Peter Perry! Oh, what should we feel if we'd lost our Tim!"

Tom was so miserably unhappy thinking of Bounce that he had not the heart to go out again that day. He stayed indoors, not doing anything, and looking so altogether out of sorts that by and by his mother inquired if he was feeling unwell; whereupon he said that he was well enough, but that he was sick of the holidays and everything, an answer which brought a grieved look to her face. A short while later he spoke so sharply to Nellie because she kept on asking what was the matter with him, that he made her cry, after which his conscience pricked him for his unkindness to his little sister, and he finally went to bed in such a state of nervous irritability and remorse that it was hours before he could get to sleep.

The following morning he awoke early with the feeling that something of a disastrous nature had occurred; and immediately his thoughts flew to the blind boy and his dog. Then a brilliant idea occurred to him. He would get up and go to Halcyon Villa before breakfast, and ascertain if Bounce had returned. In another moment he was out of bed.

It was nearly seven o'clock by the time Tom reached Halcyon Villa, but every blind in the house was down. He was panting, for he had run all the way from Ladysmith Terrace, so he stood waiting at the front door, before ringing, to regain his breath. Whilst he stood thus he heard the wheels of a heavy vehicle rumbling in the road, and then a red and yellow caravan came in sight, which he recognised as the Lees'. To his amazement it drew up to the gate.

"Why is it stopping here, I wonder?" muttered Tom. "Oh!" The "oh" was a cry of mingled joy and relief, and the next moment he was running across the lawn to meet Moses Lee, who had entered the garden leading an Irish terrier at the end of a piece of rope. The gipsy had found the wanderer and brought him home.

CHAPTER VI

A PARTING

"NELLIE! I say, where are you, Nellie? It's all right! Bounce is safe! He's just been brought home."

Mr. and Mrs. Burford and their little daughter were at the breakfast-table when Tom burst in on them with his news. Nellie cried: "Oh, how glad I am!" and was beginning to ask questions when her father interposed by telling Tom to sit down and have his breakfast.

"I'm sorry I'm late," the little boy said apologetically, as he took his accustomed place. "I've been to Halcyon Villa, and stayed talking to Peter Perry and his aunt. I wanted so much to know if Bounce had been found."

"When was he found?" asked Nellie.

"Last night. But Moses Lee—that's the gipsy who found him—kept him tied up at Hatwell Green till this morning, when the caravan had to pass Halcyon Villa on their way through the town—the gipsies are moving to-day. I was standing at the front door when I saw the Lees' caravan stop at the gate. The blinds of the house were all down then, but a minute later a servant pulled up those in the dining-room, and after that came and opened the front door, and Peter Perry was close behind her. The instant he showed himself Bounce uttered a yell, broke away from Moses Lee, and simply went off his head—oh, it was a sight! First Bounce jumped around Peter like a mad thing, barking with joy, then, when he had quieted down, Peter took him up in his arms and kissed and hugged him, and—yes, really almost cried over him!"

"Poor boy!" exclaimed Mrs. Burford, whilst tears of sympathy shone in Nellie's blue eyes. "Where was the dog found?" she inquired.

"In a rabbit burrow, Mother," Tom replied.

He flushed scarlet as he spoke, and hung his head. For a minute he hesitated, then, in a few halting sentences, he explained how he had seen and left Bounce in the woods, and told of his interview with the gipsy on the preceding day.

"I think it would have been only kind if you had taken the dog back to his master," Mrs. Burford remarked, with a note of reproof in her voice.

"Yes, Mother," Tom answered; "I wished afterwards I had. You can't think what a weight off my mind it is to know he's all right."

"How came the dog to be found?" asked Mrs. Burford; "you have not told us that."

"No, but I will," Tom said eagerly. "Really it's quite wonderful he's living! Moses Lee put in all the afternoon yesterday looking for him, and couldn't find him; but, late in the evening, after his wife and Zingra had returned, he went into the woods again. This time he came upon the hole in the old hedge I'd told him of, where Bounce had been digging, and he got down on his knees and looked in. He saw the hole led into a regular rabbit run, and that the hedge was like a honeycomb with rabbit holes. Then he got up and went to the other side of the hedge, and there he saw another hole where Bounce had evidently been digging, too, and above the hole earth had given way— fallen and partly blocked the entrance. Well, what did he do as soon as he saw that, but go and fetch a spade, and begin to dig away at the hedge, and—"

"And he found Bounce there!" broke in Nellie excitedly.

"Yes," said Tom, "right in the middle of the rabbit run, almost smothered, poor little beast He'd dug himself in, and of course there wasn't room for him to turn round, so he tried to go on, and the earth had fallen on him and—well, he couldn't have lived much longer if Moses Lee hadn't found him when he did!"

"Has Miss Perry given Moses Lee the reward?" questioned Nellie.

"Oh, yes!" answered Tom. "She said she had never paid a sovereign with greater pleasure in her life. And, oh, Mother, what do you think? She's going to call here by and by to ask you to let me go to Halcyon Villa to tea; she says she would like her nephew and me to become better acquainted with each other. You will say 'yes,' won't you, Mother?"

Mrs. Burford exchanged a glance with her husband, and, looking very pleased, answered: "Certainly, my dear."

"Did Miss Perry say anything about me, Tom?" Nellie inquired.

"Oh, yes!" Tom replied promptly, adding, as he met the wistful glance of his little sister's eyes: "I'm sorry, Nellie, but she didn't say anything about asking you to tea."

It was between eleven and twelve o'clock that morning when Miss Perry's motor-car, with only Miss Perry and the chauffeur in it, drew up before the Burfords' house in Ladysmith Terrace. Tom had gone out to do an errand for his mother; but Nellie was at home, lying back in her favourite hammock chair in the shady yard, her pale little face swollen with weeping; for, since breakfast, she had been told of the change in store for her, that she was to spend three months at Broadstairs, away from her own people, and she could not reconcile herself to the idea at all. Her mother was with her when Jane came into the yard and said that Miss Perry was in the drawing-room.

"Will you come with me and see her, Nellie?" Mrs. Burford inquired.

"No, thank you," was the answer; "she hasn't come to ask me to tea!"

So Mrs. Burford went into the house alone. In a very short while she returned, her face lit up with a pleased smile. "Nellie, dear," she began, "Miss Perry wants to know if you would like a drive with her this morning—"

"Oh! oh!" interrupted Nellie, her voice shrill with surprise and excitement, "how simply lovely of her! I'll go and get ready at once!"

The little girl never forgot the delights of that first motor drive she took with Miss Perry. She sat very still with an expression of intense contentment on her face. The sun did not seem too hot now, and a breeze fanned her cheeks—there had been none in the yard at home. When, at length, after more than an hour's drive, she was set down before her own door in Ladysmith Terrace, how feeble her thanks sounded in return for the pleasure she had been given!

"I will take you with me another day," Miss Perry told her, smilingly, "and perhaps we may be able to persuade your Mother to come, too."

"Oh, yes!" cried Nellie; "thank you!—oh, thank you!"

She entered the house light-heartedly. She was not to go to Broadstairs till next month, she reflected, and, perhaps, before then, something might happen to prevent her going at all.

But nothing happened to prevent it. The remaining days of August passed all too quickly, Miss Perry's car was frequently seen now before the Burfords' house, and Tom was spending a great deal of his time with Peter Perry, whilst Tim and Bounce had evidently decided that the only course open to two reasonable dogs, whose masters had become friends, was to follow their example and be friends, too.

"It's the last day of August," Nellie remarked mournfully at breakfast one morning; "another week, and then—" She stopped with a choking lump in her throat.

"You'll like it at Broadstairs, I shouldn't wonder," Tom said hastily. "I'll promise to write to you," he went on, "and tell you everything you'll care to know."

This was very good of Tom, for he hated letter-writing. Nellie, aware of that fact, looked at him gratefully, and answered: "Yes, do! And never mind the spelling! That won't matter a bit!"

A fine, sunny morning, a week later, found the whole Burford family, Tim included, at the railway station. Mrs. Burford was to take Nellie to Broadstairs, remain there the night, and return on the morrow.

"Three months will soon pass," Tom whispered to his little sister, meaning to be consolatory.

"It's ages and ages!" she answered, looking very doleful indeed.

Then the train by which she and her mother were to travel ran into the station. Mr. Burford found corner seats in a third-class compartment for them, and the time had come for good-byes to be exchanged. Nellie had determined beforehand that she would be brave and not cry, and she succeeded in saying "Good-bye!" to both her father and brother and kissing them without breaking down; but when, after her father had settled her and her mother comfortably for the journey, Tom came to the carriage window, saying, "You haven't said good-bye to Tim, Nellie!" and lifted up the little dog for her to caress, her courage suddenly gave way, and her tears began to flow. "Take care of him, Tom," she whispered with a sob, as she leaned out of the carriage window and kissed Tim, too; "and, oh, I do hope he won't forget me! I don't know what I shall feel if he doesn't remember me when I come back!" Then the guard blew his whistle, and Nellie hastily drew in her head. The train moved slowly out of the station, and a minute later was gone.

"Come, Tom!" said Mr. Burford, touching his son on the arm.

With the dog still in his arms, Tom followed his father out of the station. In the street he set Tim down. "I was afraid if I let him go before he might run after the train," he explained. "Oh, Father, won't it be strange without Nellie?" he sighed.

"Very strange," Mr. Burford agreed. "Poor little maid, her greatest trial will be when she comes to say 'Good-bye' to her mother to-morrow; she is so unaccustomed to strangers. Are you going to come with me as far as the bank?"

"Oh, yes, Father!"

"And what will you do afterwards?"

"I thought perhaps I'd walk as far as Halcyon Villa, and ask Miss Perry to allow Peter to go somewhere with me this afternoon—fishing perhaps."

"I hope you'll not wear out your welcome at Halcyon Villa, Tom!"

"Miss Perry said she was always pleased to see me," Tom said, eagerly. "She is glad Peter has me for his friend—he never had a real friend before he knew me."

"How was that?"

"Well, you see, he doesn't go to school when he's at home—he has a tutor who's especially clever at teaching blind people; so he doesn't mix with other boys. Oh, Father, what a noise!"

A big traction engine, drawing several vans, was puffing along the street in the direction of the market square, a large piece of ground in the centre of the town, where, during three days in the middle of September, a fair was always held.

"It's a menagerie," said Mr. Burford, catching sight of the picture of a lion on one of the vans from which the covering had slipped. "I saw it was advertised to be here next week for the Fair. Look, there come an elephant and a couple of camels! Well, here we are at the bank. Good-bye, my boy, for the present."

After parting from his father, Tom followed in the rear of the elephant and the camels to the market square, where the animals were taken into a tent which had been prepared for them, and watched with the greatest interest whilst the vans belonging to the menagerie were arranged in a circle, a space being left for the entrance of the public to the exhibition. There being nothing more to be seen at present, he was thinking of going on to Halcyon Villa when his attention was attracted by an angry voice proceeding from a shabby caravan which had been pushed as far back as possible into a corner of the square, and curiosity prompted him to stop and listen to it.

"You little white-faced coward, you!" cried the voice, and there followed a string of oaths and what sounded like a blow. After that there was silence; then the door of the caravan opened, and a stout purple-faced woman came out, leading by the hand a little girl with a frightened, tear-stained countenance. The pair walked a few steps side by side, then suddenly the child pulled her hand from the woman's and started forward at a run.

"Stop her! Stop her!" cried the woman, appealing to Tom. "Set your dog at her—that'll fetch her back!"

"Stop her yourself!" retorted Tom shortly, and, bidding Tim keep to heel, he turned away. Already the little girl was out of the square and had disappeared from sight.

CHAPTER VII

A DISPUTED STORY

ON reaching Halcyon Villa, Tom found Miss Perry and her nephew in the garden, the former cutting flowers for the house, and received a hearty greeting from both of them. He told them all about Nellie's departure, and then put his request that Peter might be allowed to go fishing with him in the afternoon.

"Fishing?" cried Miss Perry, in a tone of distinct disapproval; "no, certainly not. Supposing Peter fell into the water, what then?"

"But I'd see he didn't fall into the water," Tom assured her; "I'd look after him all right. I thought we might go to the pond near Hatwell Green—"

"I can't hear of it!" interposed Miss Perry. "I'm very sorry," she continued, observing the disappointment on both boys' faces, "but you must decide on some other form of amusement, my dears. You could not fish anyway, Peter."

"Oh, yes, I think I could!" Peter answered quickly. "Tom and I have been talking about it; he has promised to lend me a rod and to bait the hook—I should feel in a moment if I had a bite."

"Of course you would!" agreed Tom, looking appealingly at Miss Perry; and he believed it, for Peter's sense of touch, like that of most blind people, was particularly acute. "The pond is not very deep," he added; "I never heard of any one having been drowned there."

"Do, please, let us go, Aunt Harriet!" pleaded Peter.

"No, Peter," Miss Perry answered decidedly, "I cannot permit it. I have quite made up my mind. If Tom wants to go fishing it must be without you; but if, on the other hand, he would like to take you for a walk this afternoon, I shall be pleased for you to accompany him, and I hope he will return with you to tea."

Having cut all the flowers she required, Miss Perry now left the boys and went into the house.

"What a pity she should be so nervous about you!" Tom exclaimed, with a disappointed sigh. "Never mind," he went on, noticing the sad look on his companion's face, "we will manage to enjoy the afternoon somehow. We'll—"

"But I don't want to keep you from going fishing!" Peter broke in.

"Do you think it would be any fun going by myself?" asked Tom. "Rather not! Your aunt said we might go for a walk together, and we will. I know where I will take you. To the Market Square. The shows are arriving there for the Fair next week."

"I did not know there was to be a Fair. Aunt Harriet hasn't said anything about it."

"Oh, I don't suppose she gives it a second thought! But it's rare fun, Peter. There are sweet-stalls, dozens of them, and shooting-galleries, and all sorts of shows—this year there'll be a menagerie. And there are always a dwarf, and a giant, and a fat woman; and the smallest pony in the world; and the biggest horse; and a clever donkey who does tricks and knows every word that's said to him. Last year when the donkey's master gave him a bunch of flowers and told him to present it to the prettiest lady present, he gave it to our Nellie! Wasn't it clever of him? I'd never thought before whether Nellie was pretty or not, but the people all clapped their hands, so I suppose they agreed with the donkey."

The boys had strolled towards the garden gate whilst talking, and now stood leaning against it. Tom, who seemed able to think of little else than the coming fair, was still describing its manifold attractions, when he caught sight of a little girl wandering aimlessly along the road, and recognised the child he had seen run away from the purple-faced woman in the Market Square. He broke off in the midst of describing the various sorts of roundabouts, and exclaimed, "Hulloa!"

"Who is it?" inquired Peter, hearing footsteps.

Tom hurriedly explained, watching the child as she approached; she walked slowly, looking sad and dispirited.

When she was in a line with the gate he addressed her. "Hi, little girl," he said, "wait a minute, I want to speak to you."

She stopped, fixing a pair of inquiring brown eyes on his face. She was about Nellie's age, he thought, and would have been nice-looking if she had not been so pale and thin.

"I say, what made you run away from that woman in the Market Square?" he asked, curiously. "I was there and saw you."

"I ran away because I was afraid she would beat me," she exclaimed; "I am afraid of her. She's rough, and hits me about—boxes my ears, and—oh, she serves me cruelly bad, that she does!"

"What a shame!" exclaimed Tom, indignantly. "She isn't your mother, is she?"

"Oh, no, no! She's no relation either! She's Mrs. Sordello—Max Sordello's a lion-trainer, and she's his wife. I'd run away from them altogether if I only knew where to go. I can't tell you how unkindly they treat me, and now—and now—' the child's voice broke with a sob.

"Oh, you poor little girl!" cried Peter. "What are you called?"

"Grace Lee," she replied.

"Haven't you a mother or a father?" inquired Tom.

"No," she said, sadly, "not now. Mother died so long ago that I can't remember her, and father—he died last year." Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, but she went on: "He worked for a showman with a steam roundabout; he used to take the money, but he had an accident—fell off the roundabout, and died in hospital. Since then I've lived with the Sordellos. They were kind at first, but now—oh, I'm so frightened!" She paused, shuddering. "And I'm so hungry!" she added.

"Hungry?" cried Peter. "Oh, wait I will get you something to eat in a minute!" And he hurried off towards the house.

"He's blind," Tom said, nodding at Peter's retreating figure; "you wouldn't guess it, would you?"

"No, indeed!" cried the little girl, looking greatly shocked. "Oh, I am so sorry! He is your brother, I suppose?"

"Oh, no! His name is Peter Perry, and he's staying here with his aunt. I'm a friend of his—Tom Burford. I say, how is it you are hungry? Haven't you had any breakfast?"

"No. The Sordellos said I shouldn't have it till I had promised— promised—oh, I mustn't tell you that! If they found out I'd been telling about them they'd half kill me—yes, they would!"

"It's dreadful you should be so afraid of them. Some one ought to interfere to prevent their ill-treating you. I'll speak to my father, and—"

"Oh, no, no!" interrupted the child, evidently alarmed at the idea, "please don't! If any one interfered it would make things worse for me, indeed it would!"

At that point in the conversation Peter returned, carrying a paper bag containing some slices of bread-and-butter and a couple of pieces of cake. "Here, Grace," he said, kindly, thrusting the bag between the bars of the gate.

In another minute Grace was eating hungrily. She had finished the bread-and-butter and one of the pieces of cake, the boys having asked her all sorts of curious questions meanwhile, when, glancing back along the road, she started violently, and let the bag containing the other piece of cake fall to the ground.

"What's the matter?" asked Tom. As he spoke he caught sight of a man approaching—a tall, slim, very dark man, with coal-black eyes, a fierce black moustache, and a smiling, though at the same time sinister, expression of countenance.

"It's Max Sordello!" gasped Grace, in a tone of mingled fear and dismay; "oh, what shall I do?"

She had turned white to the lips, and was all of a tremor. Tom opened the gate, and, followed by Peter, stepped to her side. Max Sordello glanced sharply, but smilingly, from Grace to the boys as he came up to them. "Grace, child, what are you doing here?" he inquired, in a voice which was particularly soft in tone. "You should not have wandered away without your breakfast," he proceeded, glancing at the paper bag on the ground; "I hope you have not been begging?"

"No," Peter hastened to assure him, she has not. "But she told us she was hungry, and I got her some bread-and-butter and cake. She has done nothing wrong."

"I am glad of that, sir," the man said, civilly. He laid his hand on the little girl's arm as he spoke. "She gives me and my good wife a world of trouble," he continued; "she's not our own child, but an orphan we've adopted out of charity, a wild little thing, not very truthful—"

"I never told a lie in my life!" Grace broke in, with a flash of her brown eyes, the indignant colour rising to her cheeks.

"That's one, anyway!" retorted Max Sordello. He gripped her hard by the arm as he spoke.

"Don't you dare be rough with her!" cried Tom, indignantly.

"Rough with her!" echoed the lion-trainer, loosening his grip immediately; "why, me and my wife have always been kindness itself to her, the ungrateful little baggage! Where would she be now if we hadn't taken pity on her? Why, in the workhouse, of course! What has she been saying against us, young gentleman? Whatever it is, it isn't true. Come, speak up, Grace! Haven't we let you share our home and provided for you ever since your poor father died?"

"Yes," answered the child. She seemed about to say more, but, meeting Max Sordello's eyes, she stood trembling and silent.

"If you have anything to tell against me," said the lion-trainer, still smiling and speaking very softly, "say it before me; if not, go home!"

The little girl hesitated a minute, then, without a word, and without so much as a glance at the two boys, turned away and walked slowly along the road in the direction of the town.

"A very difficult child to manage," remarked Max Sordello, shaking his head gravely as he looked after her; "my wife and I are doing the best we can for her, but she's that disobedient that often we wish we'd let her go to the workhouse instead of adopting her."

"Hasn't she any relations?" inquired Peter.

"None that I know of, sir. I didn't know much of her father—he was a gypsy and died as the result of an accident. My wife and I took the child out of pure good-nature."

"Why did you keep her without her breakfast?" questioned Tom.

"For punishment, sir," Max Sordello answered promptly; "she had disobeyed and defied my wife, and deserved to be punished. She might have had her breakfast if she would have promised to be good, but she wouldn't."

The boys were extremely puzzled. In their hearts they believed that Grace had been badly treated, but Max Sordello spoke so plausibly that they began to think it was possible that the little girl might have given trouble, and reflected that it certainly had been very kind of the lion-trainer and his wife to adopt her.

"Well, she's not hungry now," Tom said, "and I hope your wife won't be hard on her when she gets home; I know your wife is rough with her—I was in the Market Square when the row was going on between them not an hour ago."

"My wife may be a little heavy-handed, but she wouldn't hurt the child," Max Sordello answered; "she's too fond of her to do that." Then, evidently wishing to please the boys, he chirruped to Bounce, who had come out into the road and, having found the paper bag, was now eating the last crumb of its contents.

"I wouldn't advise you to interfere with him," said Tom, "he's not too good-tempered with strangers."

"No, please don't touch him!" said Peter, apprehensively.

Nevertheless, Max Sordello stooped to pat the dog; whereupon Bounce gave an angry snarl, showing every tooth in his head. Tim, who had been engaged in watching a cat in a lilac-tree in the garden, hearing the snarl, came out into the road in haste to ascertain what was going on, and was just in time to see Max Sordello beating a hasty retreat. The two dogs looked at each other; then, with one accord, they rushed after the lion-trainer and barked him out of sight.

"They've not touched him, have they?" questioned Peter, anxiously.

"Oh, no!" Tom answered, reassuringly; "they've only given him a jolly good fright!"

CHAPTER VIII

TOM'S PRESENCE OF MIND

THE boys did not come across either little Grace Lee or the Sordellos when they visited the Market Square in the afternoon; they did not stay there long, for Tom soon realised that the bustle and confusion attending the arrival and fixing of the shows had a bewildering effect on his companion. After Bounce had fought twice, and Tim had brought trouble upon himself and his master by pouncing on a cat, which belonged to a showman who had a great gift for strong language, and Peter had been nearly trampled upon by a van-horse, they turned their backs on the busy scene, and, before long, reached the country.

"Where are we going?" asked Peter by and by. He had dropped Tom's arm which he had been holding, and now, calling Bounce to him, put the dog on the leash. "I'd better lead him," he said, "or he may get away hunting in the woods again."

"We're on the road to Hatwell Green," Tom informed him; "let us go on and see if there are any gipsies encamped on the green; I should think some will come for the Fair."

"Oh, yes! I'm afraid you left the Market Square on my account, Tom?"

"Oh, never mind that! If I had known there would be such a crowd I wouldn't have taken you there. It wasn't a place for the dogs either; there were so many other dogs about, and then that cat!"

"The dogs and I have spoilt your afternoon!"

"Oh, no, you have not! When I saw how you were getting pushed about, I knew we had made a mistake in going to the Square; but—why, how grave you are looking! You surely don't think I was selfish enough to want to stay?"

"No, I don't think that! You're not a bit selfish. You're just the opposite! And you're very, very kind! If you weren't you wouldn't be so patient with me."

"Nonsense!" cried Tom, laughing, and colouring at this frank praise. "What a chap you are, Peter! You talk in such a serious, old-fashioned way sometimes—that's because you don't go to school and knock about with other boys, I expect."

"I dare say," agreed Peter. "Nellie and your Mother must be arriving at Broadstairs about now, mustn't they?" he asked a moment later.

"Yes. Oh, Peter, I do hope Nellie will get quite, quite well at Broadstairs! I know Mother and Father are really dreadfully anxious about her, though they don't say much. I've begun to miss her already. Do you know that when I went home to dinner I quite forgot, for a minute, when I opened the front door, that she wasn't somewhere about; I nearly shouted out 'Nellie!'—meaning, of course, to tell her all about that poor little girl, Grace Lee. Oh, by the way, I've been thinking! You heard Max Sordello say that Grace's father was a gipsy, didn't you? Well, did it strike you that she might be related to Moses Lee?"

"No. Do you think she can be? You asked Max Sordello if she had any relations, but he didn't seem to know of any."

"He mightn't. Anyway, if we find the Lees at Hatwell Green, I shall speak to them about Grace."

But the Lees' yellow and red caravan was not at Hatwell Green when they reached there, and the only living objects to be seen were an aged donkey and half-a-dozen geese. The boys threw themselves down on the ground in the shadow of a hedge to rest, whilst they continued their conversation.

"What do you mean to be when you're a man?" Peter asked by and by.

Tom sighed. "I'm afraid I shall have to be a clerk like Father," he said, a distinct note of distaste in his voice.

"What would you like to be?"

"I can't make up my mind. When I was quite a little boy I wanted to be something grand—a knight-errant. Don't laugh!"

Peter was not laughing; on the contrary, he was very serious. "A knight-errant?" he said questioningly, his face full of interest.

"Yes. Mother used to tell me about knights-errant when I was a little chap. They were knights who travelled about in search of adventures, and they were always very brave men who were kind to people in trouble, and gentle with women and children, and they weren't afraid of anything. Of course there aren't any knights-errant nowadays."

"What a pity!" exclaimed Peter regretfully.

"Yes, it's a great pity," he went on; "for you would have made a very good knight-errant."

"Oh, I don't know about that!" Tom replied modestly, though secretly flattered.

"Oh, yes, you would!" Peter persisted, "for you are very brave, you don't seem afraid of anything or any one, and you'd always be kind to people in trouble if you could. You'd give a lot, I know, to be able to help poor little Grace Lee, wouldn't you?"

"It makes me furious to think of that great fat Mrs. Sordello, with her ugly purple face, hitting her about and swearing at her!" cried Tom. "Of course I'd help her if I could!"

Peter nodded. "Yes," he said, "of course you would. But a great many people wouldn't bother about her at all. Oh, I consider it was splendid of you to speak to Max Sordello in the way you did! 'Don't you dare be rough with her!' you said, and you can't think how awfully stern your voice sounded."

"I felt so angry with the brute, Peter; he'd got hold of the poor little thing's arm and was hurting it. The more I think of him the more I feel sure he told us lies this morning, and that Grace spoke the truth."

"I told Aunt Harriet about her," said Peter; "but she thought the Sordellos must be very kind people to have adopted her, and that she must be a naughty little girl. What does your father think?"

"I haven't told him about her yet; at dinner-time we talked mostly of Nellie—she's the apple of Father's eye, you know."

"Oh, I expect so! I wish I had a sister, Tom."

"I dare say you do. It must be awfully dull for you, living alone with your father. What sort of a man is he? Anything like my father, I wonder?"

"He's a good deal older than your father, I should say. No, I don't think he is in the least like Mr. Burford."

"He's very rich, isn't he? I heard Father tell Mother so; he said he was a partner in one of the biggest firms of shipowners in the world. It must be jolly to have a rich father—not that I'd change mine for a millionaire!"

There was a note of affectionate pride in Tom's voice as he spoke; Peter heard it, and his dark, rather grave countenance lit up with an understanding smile.

"I don't suppose either of us would like to change fathers," he replied in his quaint, old-fashioned way.

"Peter," Tom said, after a brief silence, "which would you rather be, rich and blind, or poor and able to see?"

"Why, poor and able to see, of course," Peter answered decidedly. He paused momentarily, then continued: "I shouldn't so much mind being blind if it wasn't for Father—if he didn't trouble about it, I mean. I heard him tell some one once that he would make any sacrifice if by doing it he could give me my sight. I'm glad you're going to see my Father, Tom; you know he's coming to Chilaton at the end of the month, and Aunt Harriet says she shall insist on his staying a few days at any rate."

"I shall like to see him," Tom admitted frankly; "he's going to take you back with him, isn't he?"

"I believe so. He misses me, I expect—not that he sees a great deal of me when I'm at home, because he's away in the city all day, but we generally have a little while together in the evening. Listen! What's that row?"

"I don't hear anything."

"I do. Your ears are not as sharp as mine. It's far away, but it's coming nearer. I hear dogs barking, and men's voices shouting, and a cow bellowing."

"A cow bellowing?" echoed Tom. He listened intently, then sprang to his feet.

"Yes, I hear now," he said quickly; "there's something being driven along the road. We'd better get somewhere out of the way." He had no fear of cows or any kind of cattle himself, but he was anxious to put Peter in a place of safety; so he hurried him across the green to a five-barred gate in the hedge. The gate was locked, but the blind boy climbed it easily, and dropped into the meadow on the other side, whilst Tom held Bounce, and Tim dragged himself through the bars.

"I must lift Bounce over," Tom said; "he's too big to get between the bars like Tim. Steady, Bounce!"

With some difficulty, for Bounce was a good weight, he succeeded in lifting the dog over the gate, Peter receiving him on the other side.

"Quick, quick, Tom!" cried Peter nervously; "I believe there's a mad bull coming! Listen how it's bellowing! Oh, here you are! That's right! What a fearful noise! Can you see what's going on?"

"Yes! It's not a bull, but a cow, with two sheep-dogs and two drovers after it. How the drovers are yelling! Oh, I say, what a shame! One of the dogs bit the cow on the leg then! Oh! She's going for him with her horns! There, now, the other dog's bitten her! What are they trying to do? Hi, you men, there, call back those dogs of yours and let that poor brute go on quietly, do you hear?"

The men heard, and one of them shouted something in reply which the boys did not catch.

"I hate to see cattle driven," Tom said; "they get so badly treated, poor things. Those drovers ought to be taken up for driving a cow as fast as that and letting their dogs worry her; it's dreadfully cruel of them. I wonder where they're taking her? She looked terribly wild. They'll never be able to drive her through the town, if that's their intention; but perhaps they mean to put her in a field somewhere on the road. I don't suppose she'd have hurt us, but it's as well to be on the safe side of the gate, isn't it?"

"Yes, indeed," agreed Peter, who was looking very concerned. "I hate to think of animals being served badly," he said; "do you think the dogs were injuring the cow, Tom?"

"They seemed to be very rough with her, I thought. Which way shall we go home, Peter?"

"If we go through the woods and fields I shall have to lead Bounce," Peter answered, "but we'll go which way you like, of course."

"Oh, Bounce shan't have his walk spoilt!" Tom said, good-naturedly. "We'll return by the road; then you can let him run."

Five minutes later they had turned their backs on Hatwell Green, and were walking towards the town, the two dogs running on ahead. At the first turn in the road Tom remarked that he saw a caravan, and added excitedly that it was a red and yellow one and might be the Lees'.

"Is it coming this way?" asked Peter, eagerly.

"It's drawn up beside the hedge. Oh, it is the Lees'! I recognise the horse, and—yes, there's Moses himself standing by it! Oh, Peter, listen! The cow is coming back. I understand now—the dogs were trying to turn her! How stupid of me not to think of that before!"

"Is there anywhere we can go to get out of her way?" asked Peter.

"I'm afraid not, unless you can climb the hedge. Try—I'll help you!"

"You'd better look out for yourself, Tom!"

"No, no! This way! Come!"

The cow, still pursued by the drovers and the sheep-dogs, had rushed past the caravan. Tom succeeded in dragging his companion part way up the hedge, and was hoping the infuriated animal would pass them by, when Bounce and Tim suddenly dashed to meet her, barking. She lowered her head to charge them, but, at that minute, Peter slipped and fell into the hedgerow, thus drawing her attention to him. He did not himself realise to the full the danger of his position; but Tom, of course, did, and took immediate action. Tearing off his coat, he sprang into the road, and, as the cow was making for Peter, flung it, with sure aim, over her face and horns.

CHAPTER IX

"UNA AND THE LION"

"YOUR being so quick-witted saved him, sir; she'd have gored him to death—or, at any rate, injured him seriously, but for you!"

The speaker was Moses Lee, who had left his horse's head and run forward to the assistance of the boys when he had realised the peril of their position. It had taken the cow barely a minute to free her head from Tom's coat, but by that time the gipsy had been at hand, and by cracking his whip had driven her on. Now, cow, sheep-dogs, and drovers were all once more out of sight, and Moses was addressing Tom, who had picked a hazel-stick and was trying to catch Tim in order to chastise him, whilst Peter, who had risen to his feet, was standing, white, trembling, and bewildered, beside the hedge from which he had fallen. Bounce crouched close beside him, conscious that he was in disgrace.

"It's no good, sir," Moses continued, as Tim, having allowed his master to come close to him, tucked his tail between his legs and slunk guiltily away; "he's not going to let you catch him—not he! Look at his manner. He knows he's done wrong and has offended you. Poor little beast! He was no more to blame than the other dog. I saw how it was—what with the cow bellowing, and the sheep-dogs barking, and the drovers shouting they both lost their heads for once in a way."

"I hope it will be only for once in a way," Tom said, with a menacing gesture at Tim, who, at some dozen yards distance, had paused and was looking back at him. "Yes, that's right, Peter, put Bounce on the leash again. You aren't hurt, are you?"

"Oh, no!" Peter answered. "It was nothing of a fall, really."

"Thank goodness the cow didn't touch you!" cried Tom, fervently. "It was a near shave she didn't though."

"A very near shave," agreed the gipsy, seriously.

"Please tell me exactly what happened," said Peter, turning his sightless eyes upon Moses.

The man explained, again praising Tom for his quick-wittedness, by which he had been greatly struck.

When he had finished his tale Peter exclaimed, "Oh, Tom, how can I thank you? Really, then, you saved me from being gored by the cow! Oh, how brave you are!"

"Oh, nonsense, nonsense!" said Tom, hastily. "Why, Peter, what's the matter. Don't look so shocked. It's all over—the danger, I mean. Why, you're shaking like a leaf. Don't be so silly. We'd better go on. Where's my coat?"

"Here, sir," replied the gipsy, picking it up from the ground; "but I don't think you can wear it—it's torn right through the back where the cow's horn went through it."

"Never mind. I'll carry it, if I can't wear it. Fortunately, it's an old one, so if it can't be mended there's not much harm done. Where's that wicked Tim? Oh, gone on to your caravan, I see, and Zingra's got hold of him! Are you going to stop at Hatwell Green?"

"Yes, sir; we've come back for the Fair."

"Oh, then, I shall see you again! Come along, Peter. I suppose there's no chance of that cow coming back?"

"Not in the least, I should say, sir," the gipsy answered. "The drovers told me she gave them the slip at the cross-roads, but depend upon it they'll take good care she doesn't do that again."

Both boys looked relieved on hearing this. They stopped at the caravan to exchange greetings with Mrs. Lee and Zingra, but Tom hurried Peter on when the gipsy woman, who had been at the back of the caravan, and consequently had not witnessed the scene with the cow, began to ask questions about the torn coat he was carrying.

"You're coming to tea with Aunt Harriet and me, aren't you?" asked Peter, when, out of sight of the caravan, Tom permitted him to slacken speed.

"I was," Tom answered. "Miss Perry asked me, as you know, and Father said I might, but I can't now—I must go straight home."

"Oh, why?"

"I can't have tea with your aunt wearing no coat."

"Oh, but I'll lend you one of mine! You mustn't go home! You won't object to wear one of my coats, will you? No? Oh, then, that's all right. Is Tim following us?"

"Yes—little beast!"

"Do forgive him now, Tom! Call him up to you, and make friends with him."

Tom laughed and obeyed. He assured Tim he wouldn't hurt him, whereupon the little dog bounded up to him, and was petted and forgiven. After that Bounce was forgiven, too.

Peter would have lent Tom the very best coat he possessed, but Tom declined it, and insisted on borrowing an old one, in which, he declared, he would be far more comfortable. It fitted him very well, for he and the blind boy were much of a size, so that Miss Perry did not notice it was her nephew's till Peter drew her attention to it, and explained what had happened. She said little then, but her look was eloquent of the deepest gratitude as it rested on her young visitor, and when, a short while after tea, Mr. Burford called for his son, she drew him apart from the boys and talked to him earnestly for a long while.

"What was Miss Perry saying to you, Father?" Tom inquired, with his customary curiosity as, later, he and Mr. Burford walked home together. "Was it about our adventure this afternoon?"

Mr. Burford assented. "She wishes to give you a new coat," he replied, smiling. "I said 'No' at first, but my refusal seemed to hurt her, so I felt obliged to say 'Yes.' She considers you behaved very pluckily this afternoon, Tom, and I agree with her. I am pleased my boy showed true grit—kept his head and did not run away."

"I never thought of running away," Tom answered, colouring; "but, oh, I was awfully, awfully frightened! Peter is so helpless in his blindness, you know! It was horrible to see the cow make for him! I hadn't time to say even a little prayer, but it was in my heart, I think, and I just tore off my coat—and, oh, wasn't I thankful I made such a good shot and threw it right over the cow's head! Then Moses Lee came up with his whip and drove the cow on. Oh, dear me, how stupid I've been! I forgot to speak to the gipsies about little Grace Lee!"

"Who is little Grace Lee?" inquired Mr. Burford.

Tom explained, telling all he knew concerning the child and the Sordellos. "And it crossed my mind that she might be related to Moses Lee," he said in conclusion; "anyway, there'd be no harm in asking him; I shall be sure to see him again."

"You say you heard the woman—this Mrs. Sordello—strike the little girl, and use very bad language?" said Mr. Burford, interested and concerned.

"Yes, Father, I did. She called her 'a white-faced little coward,' and swore at her dreadfully; then she struck her—any one outside the caravan could have heard, but no one was there except me."

"What had the little girl done to anger Mrs. Sordello? You have not found out that?"

"No, Father; that is, Max Sordello said she had disobeyed and defied his wife, but I believe he was telling lies!"

Mr. Burford looked doubtful. "You cannot prove that," he said. "If he spoke the truth, the child deserved punishment, I dare say, though not such harsh treatment as she received—nothing would justify that. If a policeman had been in your position he would no doubt have interfered and summoned the woman for using bad language, but if you told a policeman all you've told me you couldn't prove it, and—well, in short, you can't do anything in the matter, my boy."

"It's dreadful to think such a little girl should be treated so badly!" Tom cried in indignant accents, "a little girl no bigger than our Nellie! I am sure Max Sordello and his wife are cruel to her! I believe they are wicked people! Oh, Father, do wait a minute and see what is being pasted on that hoarding; I believe it's a bill about the menagerie!"

They had reached a large hoarding surrounding an unfinished building, upon which a bill-sticker was busily at work. He was standing on a short ladder, and glanced down with a smile as Tom and Mr. Burford stopped to watch him, revealing a good-natured, rubicund face.

"This is something in your line, I guess, young gentleman," he remarked, addressing Tom, whilst he indicated a flaring poster on which was represented a lion jumping through a hoop. "All boys love a wild-beast show, I know," he continued, "and you may take my word for it that 'Dumbell's World-famed Menagerie' is well worth seeing."

"You have seen it, then, I suppose?" said Mr. Burford.

The bill-sticker nodded assent. "At Birmingham last year," he replied; "this is the first time it's been here. It's the best show of wild animals on tour. The chief attraction, of course, is the performing lions—as gentle as lambs, or—" nodding his head meaningly— "whipped curs; their trainer, Max Sordello, has them well in hand, anyway. They say he trains them by kindness, but who's to know, eh?"

He pasted on another bill, one representing a lion with a little girl clad in a scarlet frock and wearing a wreath of flowers standing beside him, her arms around his neck, her face hidden in his tawny mane, and then surveyed it gravely. "I shouldn't like my little gell to do that," he said, "no, not for a thousand pounds! See what's printed under that bill? 'Una and the lion.'"

"Is the little girl really called Una?" asked Tom eagerly.

"Maybe, sir," answered the bill-sticker, "I don't know. She's Max Sordello's child, I'm given to understand; she's been appearing in public with the lions for months, but never yet with Hero—that lion there; they say he's forest-bred. She's to make her first appearance with him next week, on Monday at the Fair, so we shall all have an opportunity of seeing her."

Tom was staring hard at the picture of the little girl in the scarlet frock; there was a strong suspicion in his mind that this "Una," who was considered to be the lion-trainer's child, was actually Grace Lee, and when, a few minutes later, he moved on with his father, he told him what he thought.