We snatched at the thinnest pretext for wild trespasses which might have landed me in somewhat awkward places (it was Nick's secret woe that his ghostship rendered him immune from the delicious tremors of the transgressor); and his irresistible passion for doorbells resulted in more than one moment of difficult explanation for me, and unalloyed delight for the invisible truant.

One night when there was a bright moon we pitched our wickets on a deserted field, and Nick took his first instruction in the art of cricket,-a mystery he had pined to solve "these hundred years."

"To hear the choir- boys talk in summer," he said, "'tis somewhat after Handyn and Handoute, ha? but a sport to grow more crazed about than our old game. Lord! 'tis a hard matter to lie still i' the tomb and they chattering in whispers all about me! Didst ever see Jessop at the top o' his form, Tom? or Alf Minn, or Ranji, or W. G.? What's a Test, Tom?"

I forget how we decided that cricket practice was to assist in the recovery of the owche,

but I know that Nick de

veloped symptoms of a googlie

which would have turned Bosanquet green.

So night slipped after night, merry and magical, and touched with an odd tenderness that did not lack its pangs as December drew to her close; and so Christ's Eve dawned and waned, and Nick and I lay under a hedge and watched the sunset fill the empty spaces of Welchester's ruins with

magnificent pageantry. The golden west was like a call of clarions, and painted clouds rode past the hollow windows, a procession of brilliant images, scarlet that trampled the sky like horses' feet, purple that flowed in like a kingly mantle. And afar, that constant shouting of boys in the evening

"Huzza! huzza!" Nick sprang to his feet whirling his arms. "Welcome to the Prince! Welcome, Ned, welcome! Shout for him, Tomhuzza!"

"Huzza! huzza!" I joined my voice to his; and a small violet cloud, half-fringed with gold, swam in the vacancy above the banquet-hall.

"That boy deserves a sixpence, mother; he has a voice like honey."

"What boy, sir?"

"Didn't you hear the carols, Mrs Venn?"

"You'll hardly catch 'em now, my dear, they're long gone by."

I glanced at her, and opened the door on Nick lounging in its shadow.

"A glad Yule to thee, Marget Catton! A glad Yule, Tom."

"Can you still see the singers, sir?"

"Just the last of them. I say, what a wind! I'm leaving you in an awful draught,

Mrs Venn."

I shut myself outside with Nick, who was rubbing his brows rather soberly.

"Merry Christmas, Nick ! You're out early."

"Ay. The Great Ones are sleeping. 'Tis my occasion." "What would you like to do?"

"Shall we go carolling for our friends, Tom? There be many set about getting pennies from them that hear, but few enow to sing out o' love to the deaf. Let's tune up some of our favourites, Tom.'

"Ay, she be-century-deaf," said Nick with a catch in his throat. "So come now :

"Here we bring new water

From the well so clear,
For to worship God with,
This Happy New Year.
Sing levy-dew, sing levy-dew,
The water and the wine;
The seven bright gold wires
And the bugles they do shine.

Sing reign of Fair Maid,
With gold upon her toe,—
Open you the West Door,
And turn the Old Year go:
Sing reign of Fair Maid,

With gold upon her chin,Open you the East Door,

And let the New Year in."

"Thou'lt get it again from me. Let us sing the LevyDew for Marget. She liked

that."

"But Marget isn't deaf, Nick."

"Here be some of our fellows, here lies jolly Gregory," said Nick presently, as we found ourselves in the oldest part of the burying-ground. give 'em a rouser:—

"Let's

"Gregory set store by yon,' said Nick. He lay on his face and knocked the bitten grass. "Hillo, old boy, dost hear?" he called. "Tom," he sat up looking around with puzzled eyes, "what be they up to wi' the graves here? They be all digged about, and their stones down-turned."

"I think they've been shifting some of the coffins, Nick. I noticed it the day I came."

"Then 'tis a howling shame!" cried Nick. I heard his teeth chattering as he spoke. "Ay, 'tis! Why canna they leave old bones in peace? Hugh Withun lay yonder-see, even his monument uprooted too!" He ran forward and caressed

the rotting slab that lay beside a pile of rubbish; broken earth and stones and splinters.

"Oh, Withun, where dost be? Can I not sing for thee as for the rest? Wilt never hear thy bad boy's voice again?

"There is no rose of swych virtue As is the rose that bare Jhesu. Alleluya!'

"Which of all this dust be thou, Withun? laid open thus to the bitter air! . . . Tom, is that thee shivering ?—

"For in this rose contained was Heven and erth in litil space; Res miranda!'

"Sing, Tom, sing wi' me, steady. Try to like him, Tom, for I canna keep my teeth a' loved thy voice.

"By that rose we well may see There be one God in persons three; Pares forma!

The angeles sungen the shepherdes to
Gloria in excelsis Deo;
Gaudeamus!'

"What be this here?

"Leve we all this wordly mirth,' [Look, Tom!]

'And follow we this joyful birth. Transeamus!'

Tom, what is it?"

He handed me a small and curious object: it appeared to be a box of iron, but a box that had no opening, being soldered about lid and hinge until one might have supposed it solid, but that something rattled within when it was shaken.

"Where did you find this, Nick?" I put my hand to my head, which was beginning to ache violently, and the wind out through me with unendurable sharpness.

"Among yon rubble. Dost think thou canst prise it open?

put strength to it, yet my brain's like a stew full o' pepper. Do let's get at the innards, Tom."

"This needs tool-work, Nick. I'll have it opened to-morrow, and you shall see it in the evening."

"Ay, wilt thou be here?" said Nick, staring strangely. "Yes, of course, old fellow. I say, get under my coat-this wind is freezing."

I felt his small body shaking and burning against mine. "Art very angry wi' me?" he asked suddenly. "I, Nick !"

"I know 'twas a folly, I know I shouldna ha' gone abroad in my gear, and the gloves too. Thou didst warn

me o' that, but I was ever breaking rules. Withun, lift me up, the breath catches in my ribs."

Nick!"

"Nick. "Ay, be thou not vexed wi' me, nor wi' Tom Thacker-see to Tom, wilt thou, Withun? he was never a tough one like me. I'll find my owche, old Withun, when I be better, I'll seek day and night till it be found, I will na rest till then. . . . Dost thou not say 'tis a sin o' my immortal soul until my owche be found? How shall I rest till then? . . .”

I prefer not to dwell upon the profound misery of the hours that followed. My annual illness had me in thrall, and Nick was in worse case than myself. He did not recognise me again. I do not remember how we parted, I

VOL. CXCII.-NO. MCLXVI.

In the morning, to the woe of my kind nurse, I insisted on getting up. on getting up. She must have found me a bad patient. I declined a doctor with vehemence; he would, I knew, forbid my outgoing. When Mrs Venn saw me make for the door she wrung her hands.

"You'll catch your death!" she moaned.

"But I must go. I must find a smith."

I know she thought me out of my wits.

"What for, my dear?"

"I must get this open today." Nick's find was in my hand. I had made a promise, and its fulfilment was the last grace I could show him. It seemed to me me as though I dared not go to meet him with that small casket still unopened.

"But it is Boxing-Day, sir," she reminded me.

66

Well, I must get hold of someone.'

"Give it to me," she said soothingly. "I'll see to it. Go sit by the fire now, do, my dear, and take your gruel."

In an hour she had returned, and laid the box beside me, its lid wrenched off. I did not examine the contents until I was alone. First a slip of parchment, scrawled with Latin in a crabbed and ancient hand 3 E

one sentence only

"Lord, in the Day of Judgment when this sin shall come to light, have mercy on the souls of Hugh Withun and Nicholas Cope."

I knit my brows and tried to understand it. But the

puzzle was beyond me. sin." What sin?

"This

Returning to the casket, I shook out its sole remaining contents: an antique brooch of beaten gold, set with four dulled gems and a pearl in the middle.

Nothing now would have kept me from seeking Nick this day, and I prayed from my soul for a glimpse of him an instant's respite only in which to restore to him the lost treasure that would bring him joy and peace.

When dusk came I watched my opportunity, eluded my nurse, and slipped out, muffled in my warmest things. In the pocket of my greatcoat lay the thrice-precious jewel.

I looked for Nick first about the Cathedral grounds, but he was not there. Then I turned in the direction of the Castle, and amongst the ruins I found him-stretched out on the floor of the room where, he had told me, we boys had been wont to sleep. He was flushed and breathing heavily, and seemed half-conscious only; but my step aroused him, and he welcomed me with eyes too bright.

"Where hast been so long?" he said.

"Nick, I've news for you, good news!"

"Ay, but let me speak. Oh, I have forgot my sermon, and Holy Innocents is hard upon When is it? To-morrow?

us.

"Withun! Withun!" Two feverish little hands gripped me. "Let me not die afore my term be out! let me not, Withun. I do na want to be buried among the bishops; I want to lie wi' my mates. What will I do the year-long in that solemn place, that house o' stone where the sun so rarely comes? Lonely I'll lie there, and full o' longing. I be a boy, I be no bishopI want the earth and the air, and the moon and the sun, and the sound o' boys' feet trampling in the grass, and the call o' boys' voices in the playingfields, and the hearts o' my fellows beating wi' mine under the living sod. Oh, Withun, shall I die afore my term be