in the matter of freedom from irksome boundaries foxenby was a school to be envied.

moston, certainly, could not be visited at any time without permission, nor were the boys allowed to roam the rocky and dangerous seashore at their own sweet will; but to the north-west of the school there were great stretches of kindly moorland over which they could wander without coming to any harm, and they were given every chance to imbibe the ozone of the hills at week-ends and on holidays.

shrove tuesday, with its generous supply of pancakes, usually tended towards languor, and most of the squirms remained indoors to sleep off their too-liberal helpings. the sound of their snoring, as they sprawled about on the furniture of the common-room, disgusted robin arkness.

"oh, i say, my merry men, we can't stick this," he said. "hear how the pigs grunt."

"it's like being in a farm-yard," remarked flenton.

"shall we stir the porkers up with our trusty cross-bows—yclept, these pea-shooters—and then engage them in mortal combat? nay, in this sottish state they are not worthy foemen. right about turn, boys. we will hie us up yonder hills for an afternoon's ramble."

"ay, ay, good robin," the merry men readily agreed.

it was a clear, frosty day, and even the bright sun shine did little to neutralize the sharp nip in the air. it meant moving briskly to keep the blood in circulation; the higher they climbed, the keener blew the breeze.

"ripping way to get warm, doing the 'excelsior' stunt up this hillside," said robin enthusiastically. "see that cottage in front of the fir trees, men? that's where forge found old man wykeham's valuables."

"by jove, let's have a squint inside it," little john suggested.

"softly, my faithful henchman! dost thou not know that this self-same cottage is guarded, night and day, by the myrmidons of the law?"

"but the coppers won't interfere with us. they know we're all from foxenby, and mean no harm. come on!"

"nay hold! thou art my right-hand man, little john, and many a time and oft have i had cause to be thankful for the doughty assistance of thy strong right arm. but methinks thou art far from possessing the wisdom of a socrates."

"go on, call me a blinking ass and have done with it," said flenton, rather ruefully.

"no offence, my trusty bowman. canst thou not see, however, that to enter the cottage boldly will be to bring down on our helpless heads the wrath of the police? they are not in the cottage itself, but hidden amongst the gorse-bushes, ready to pounce on the thieves if they venture inside."

"oh, pot it, must we go back then?"

"perish the thought! never let it be said that robin hood and his merry men turned their backs on any peril, however dire. we will creep round them with stealthy, noiseless tread, and see if the varlets are doing their duty as nobly as they should, or, like the greedy squirms, merely sleeping off the effects of pancakes."

the suggestion, though not so much to the merry men's liking as flenton's projected exploration of the cottage, nevertheless held promise of a little mild adventure, and they acted on it. creeping from bush to bush with scarcely a sound, they came at last in sight of two plain-clothes policemen, dressed as builder's labourers, sitting on some dried bracken-leaves, and looking anything but gay.

probably they had been forbidden to speak, for they were conversing rather guiltily in low tones, the burden of their complaint being that though they had pipes and tobacco in their pockets they dared not light them.

"this is a daft and perishin' job," said one of them. "i'd like to wring the neck of fluffy jim for stumbling across them pewter pots and coins."

"nay, that's ungrateful," retorted his mate. "we each got a quid of old wykeham's money out of the job."

"bah! it'll cost me more than any quid to sweat this cold out of my bones. my teeth chatter like a baboon's. got a drop or two left in your flask, sam?"

"drained it dry half-an-hour since, bill."

"and it'll be two more floggin' hours afore we're relieved from duty. i'm fed up. i'll resign from the force, pension or no pension, and take to navvyin'."

"no use, bill. once a policeman, always a policeman. it's in the blood."

"there's nowt i' my blood just now but icicles, sam. where's the use of this night-and-day vigil, anyhow? although the recovery of the treasure was kept out of the newspapers, it's quite likely the cracksmen will have got wind of it by this, and won't come near."

"won't they! i reckon they will. what troubles me is how they're goin' to be nabbed when they do. it'll be two policemen against four thieves, mebbe, and they're sure to have the latest thing in quick-firing revolvers."

"oh, drop that! you make me creepy, sam, all up t'spine. i've got a wife and childer, and don't want to die just yet."

"might be better to be shot dead than to peg out o' frost-bite, anyhow. here, i say, bill, have a glance down the hill—careful, now! who's this queer-looking image crawling up towards us?"

"why, only one o' them tourist cranks that walks round here in all weathers. got half-a-vanful of tin mugs and spare socks strapped on his back, you'll notice. loads himself up like a pack-horse and calls it sport."

"he's waddlin' this way. what shall we do if he stops to talk?"

"talk back, of course; anything for a change."

the perspiring tourist dropped his stick at the sight of the two men and started back nervously.

"hallo!" he exclaimed. "pardon me—i didn't notice you. like me, you are lovers of nature, and are drinking the sweet nectar of this gorgeous hill-air into your lungs."

both the plain-clothes men looked as if they'd much prefer to be drinking beer, but they grunted by way of reply. unabashed, the tourist unstrapped his knapsack, and sat upon it. then he wiped his brow on a dingy red handkerchief, and stroked an iron-grey beard as he gazed dreamily towards the sea.

"i was told that i must on no account miss the view from the top of the hill—the grandest aspect on the east coast," he said. "it is, indeed, a joy to look upon it.

"'this royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle....

this precious stone set in the silver sea',

as shakespeare truly says. ah, what a rich and rare delight it is to be alive on such a day as this!"

sam touched his forehead significantly as he looked at bill.

"barmy!" bill's answering glance seemed to say.

"ah! new life courses through my all-too-sluggish veins to-day. for ever have i done with the softening influence of the fireside.

"'better to hunt in fields for health unbought

than fee the doctor for a nauseous draught.'

what do you say, friends? surely you realize the great boon that is yours in being able to spend so much of your lives in such an enchanted spot?"

this was rubbing it in with a vengeance, and bill could keep silence no longer.

"you can cart the bloomin' landscape away with you, if you like, sir," he said. "we're dead sick of bein' anchored to it."

"god bless my soul! just think of that!" cried the tourist.

"'breathes there a man with soul so dead

who never to himself hath said,

this is my own, my native land?'

good fellows, you take my breath away. you have made me feel the need of refreshment. with your indulgence, i will consume a sandwich."

he produced a packet of sandwiches, extracted one and demolished it with evident relish, quoting poetry all the time about the beauties of meat and drink. two more sandwiches followed the first, and then, unscrewing the top of a flask, he set it to his lips and drank.

and what a thirst he had. what ample accommodation for liquor! not once did he remove the flask from his mouth until the contents had gurgled down his throat. even then he seemed reluctant to admit that he had drained the last drop, for he glanced into the recesses of the flask with a wistful and still-thirsty eye.

"greedy beggar!" muttered bill to sam. "never even offered us a 'wet', and us half-frozen to death!"

whether the tourist heard this whispered comment or not was problematical, but he seemed suddenly to become aware that two pairs of eyes were fixed upon him yearningly. he jumped up with an apologetic air.

"please forgive me," he said. "really, you will think me most impolite. permit me to offer you a sandwich each. nay, take two apiece. don't be afraid of them; they won't bite you."

"then we'll bite them, thankee, sir," said sam, proceeding to find the sandwiches a good home within his hungry anatomy.

between them, the plain-clothes men, urged to do so by the tourist, polished off the sandwiches. then they drew the backs of their hands across their mouths and sighed.

"satisfied?" queried the tourist, laughingly.

"never enjoyed a bit o' grub so much in my life," said bill.

"ditto," said sam. "if any fault could be found, there was a bit too much salt in 'em. conducive to thirst rather."

"now, isn't that vexing?" said the tourist. "if only i had thought of you before emptying the flask! there isn't a house of refreshment within miles."

"we couldn't go to it if there was," bill began, and then bit his lip as sam violently nudged him to be silent.

"ah, i have it!" the tourist cried. "wait a moment till i unstrap my knapsack. i have a little flask in there which i keep in reserve. it contains some rather fine old cognac—an excellent pick-me-up. if i might offer you a draught of that—but perhaps you are teetotal?"

"not on your dreamy eyes," said bill, with unconcealed eagerness.

"we'll be glad of a wee reviver, thankee, sir," said the more tactful sam. "it's a cold job waiting here for the—for the boss."

"you're very truly welcome, gentlemen." so saying, the tourist half-filled the top of the empty flask with some of the contents of the smaller one. "which of you drinks first?"

bill's impoliter hand stretched farthest, and it was he who first had the delight of smacking his lips over the spirit. excellent it must have been, for his countenance glowed.

"fit for a king, guv'nor," he pronounced it. "it's gingered up every nook and cranny of me."

"powerful stuff, certainly," the tourist agreed. "i only touch it now and again, when feeling rather fagged. your turn now, my friend."

sam, more studious of the correct manner, sipped his cognac appreciatively.

"better stuff than that never warmed the cockles of a man's heart, sir," he said. "i'm main obliged to you, for sure."

the tourist gazed into his flask with a measuring eye.

"i think i might safely spare another wee drappie," he said. "feel like another drain, either of you?"

they both declared they did—bill with emphasis, sam with faint reluctance.

the tourist obliged them. then, conveniently blind to the doglike pleading of bill's enamoured eye, he screwed up the flask and returned it to his knapsack.

"gives me a good samaritan-like feeling to see you both so refreshed," he said. "i must be getting farther on now, though i could stay till sunset in the enraptured contemplation of this ideal view. how sweetly the moon and stars will rise o'er yonder sea.

"'silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven

blossomed the lovely stars,'"

he quoted, with many theatrical gestures.

"you seem to know a wonderful lot of poetry, sir," said sam, with the inward reservation that this generous stranger was certainly something of a harmless lunatic.

"i could speak verse to you for hours, friend—beautiful stuff from all the greatest poets, living and dead. will it interest you at all if i recite a page or two from homer's iliad or from byron's childe harold?"

both sam and bill would have preferred a page or two from a sporting paper, but the rich spirit, so unfamiliar to their palates, had made them amiably disposed towards the eccentric tourist, and quite ready to humour his whims.

"give it mouth, guv'nor," said bill, settling himself down in the dried bracken again.

"fire away, sir," said sam.

and "fire away" the stranger did, spouting yards of rigmarole which the two plain-clothes men tried in vain to follow. to them, it was duller even than the prosiest magisterial speeches they had ever heard in court. it made them sleepy; they could scarcely refrain from yawning in his face.

bill kept closing his eyes, and each time he remembered himself it took a still greater effort to open them again. sam, too, grew drowsier and drowsier. the sound of the reciter's voice appeared to become muffled and distant; was he wound up for the day—would he never stop?

"that'll do, guv'nor," bill protested at last. "had—'bout 'nuff of it. can't keep awake—if you go on—much—longer."

"'ear, 'ear, bill," murmured sam, forgetting to be polite. "them's my—sentiments—'xactly."

"old gasbag, i—calls—him," grunted bill.

those were the last words either of them spoke that afternoon. rolling over, almost simultaneously, on the bracken, they lay there in a stupor, breathing heavily, lost to all about them, deaf at last to the droning tones of the reciter.

"hallo! they've dropped off," said the tourist. his voice held no hint of wounded pride—rather did it seem eloquent of satisfaction. he leaned over the sleepers and shook them violently in turn. their heads waggled to and fro, but neither took any heed.

"absolutely doped," the stranger muttered. "given them an over-dose, perhaps, but that can't be helped. now for the rest of the performance."

moving now with remarkable speed for so elderly-looking a man, he drew from his knapsack a couple of flags, one red, one white, and ran with them to the very crest of the hill. then he made some rapid signals, waited half-a-minute as though for an answer, and semaphored again. apparently satisfied, he returned to the spot where the two plain-clothes policemen snored, and stood over them, watch in hand.

"the car will be up in two minutes," he said, softly. "bravo, cyrus the poet! thou hast done thy work well."