"There is dinner," said his sister, as they heard Jessie give the usual summons in the passage.

if

"I don't want any dinner," said the boy sulkily.

"Oh, Harty," pleaded his sister, "aunt will be vexed you don't come at once."

"Aunt is very disagreeable," grumbled the ill-tempered one. But his appetite was urging him, in spite of his temper.

"Master Harty, Miss Dolly," called Jessie, "dinner is ready."

The little girl hastened in answer to the summons. Her brother followed more slowly.

Aunt Charlotte took no notice of her nephew's evident ill-humour. She talked to them both as usual. When dinner was over, she bade Harty wait for a note to take to his master. Harty dared not refuse, but he obeyed with an ill grace.

He departed, when the note was finished, with it in his pocket. He sauntered along. At the end of the lane leading to the cottage he met a schoolfellow. He called to him-"Bobby, will you give this pencil to Owen Benson? I borrowed it of him this morning." The little boy stared.

"Why can't you give it to him yourself?" he asked. "Because I am not coming to school this afternoon," returned Harty.

"Another half-holiday," said Bobby; "you had a whole one yesterday!"

Well, is it any business of yours?" said Harty rudely.

"It's well to be you!" said Bobby Fisher, as he hurried on his way to school, rather discontentedly. If he had only known, he would not have envied Harty Winwood!

CHAPTER IX.

IN THE WOOD AT MIDNIGHT.

DID any boy ever really enjoy playing truant? I believe not. Certainly no good boy ever did. You will say, No good boy ever did play truant. That is true. If Harty had been always good he would not now have been setting off towards the woods, instead of accompanying Bobby Fisher to his place in the class.

Yet Harty was not a bad boy! I suppose a great many girls and boys, who are generally good, do still have their fits of naughtiness, and one of these had now come upon Harold Winwood. He began by unreasonably asking his schoolmaster for a half-holiday against all rules. Then he was vexed at his master not only refusing to grant his request, but writing to Aunt Charlotte to tell her of the circumstance. He knew he had been wrong, and merited his aunt's rebuke. But instead of owning it, and striving to atone for his fault by increased attention to his duties, he chose to consider himself an injured

person. He was blaming others, yet in his own mind he really knew he alone was wrong.

This is a miserable state to be in. No boy or girl can be happy with such thoughts within them. Truly, Harty now found it so. He had stayed away from school to annoy his aunt and the master. He did not want to meet the eyes of his schoolfellows, to whom he had boasted he was going to have another half-holiday. He feared their jeers. He did not want to hand that note to his master, with his aunt's written request that her nephew should be allowed no holiday but of her asking. Well, he had got his half-holiday; and what should he do with it?

He did not care to go up to the woods to join the Fairbairn party, who, of course, did not now expect him. James would be with them, and there would be sure to be questions and explanations.

He thought he would go down to the meadows by the river. There were always some persons fishing there, or a boat might be out, belonging to the people at the Hall, who kept one chained at the foot of the steps leading up to their lawn. Then he remembered that Aunt Charlotte often went there to walk with Dolly when lessons were He would be seen there. Meanwhile he sulked, and lingered, and did nothing particular till an hour had passed. He wished he had gone into school with Fisher. It would all have been over by now, he thought, and he none the worse. He almost made up his mind he would go as it was. Then he thought again of Aunt Charlotte's

over.

note to the master, and in his ill-temper he said, “I shall just give them all a fright; I won't go back till it is quite dark."

As he spoke he sauntered up the lane, round by the field, where the cricket match had been held. He could not get into the field here, so he had to make a circuit to get to the wood, which he entered at a point some distance from that part where he had made one of the party the day before.

The shade of the wood was pleasant after the hot sun in the lane. But Harty found it dull work, all by himself. He was fond of games, and the companionship of his fellows, and he yawned as he lay down at the foot of a large tree. "What should I be doing now if I were in school?" he said to himself. "I know. I should be just doing that piece out of Roman history."

And he actually began saying over the passage, just as he would have done had he been in school. A queer way of enjoying a half-holiday! But does any one ever enjoy that which is got unfairly? I think not. If Harty had gained that half-holiday as he had many, as a favour fairly granted, he would now have been racing, shouting, and thoroughly enjoying himself among the trees or over the greensward. And here he was, skulking and hiding himself, and very far from happy. As he lay beneath the tree, looking up through the thick screen of leaves, he spied a squirrel or two, leaping from bough to bough,