Chapter II: Part 2

I trust my readers are not thirsting for a description of a fight, because in that case they will be disappointed. In the midst of the hubbub the bell sounded, and the boys went to their places, Simpson leading his friend along, and making a great show of the blood-stained handkerchief.

The injured boy, who was in the same class as Jim and Dick, at once attracted the attention of Mr. Laythorne, who asked what had happened.

"If you please, sir," said Braithwaite, "I was standing just inside the gate when Hartland came along and hit me on the nose."

"Is this correct, Hartland?"

"He called me names, so I hit him, sir," answered Jim sulkily. "And I'll hit him again, too, if he cheeks me."

"I am sorry to hear you talk in that way," said the young master calmly. "Go to your place now, and stay behind during the interval.--Boden, take that boy to the lavatory."

"Yes, sir," responded the Angel cheerfully, taking Braithwaite, not too tenderly, by the arm.

Everything went wrong that morning with Jim. He made the most stupid mistakes in class, and behaved so badly that Mr. Laythorne felt sorely tempted to send him to the head-master. He was kept in during the interval, and again at noon, and accordingly looked on himself as a martyr. When he at last got out, the playground was empty except for Dick, who would never have dreamed of going without his chum.

"Get your face straight, old man," cried he; "it's as long as a fiddle. I wish I had a looking-glass, so that you could see yourself. Think of the milkmen down your way! You'll turn all their milk sour!"

Jim stalked across the playground without deigning to reply.

"Whew!" whistled the Angel; "you ought to be marked _dangerous_, like a magazine. No wonder Laythorne was afraid to keep you inside any longer. But I say, Jim, that was a lovely tap you gave Braithwaite. He asked me if I thought his nose was broken."

"I'll break his head next time!" said Jim savagely.

The Angel clapped him on the back.

"There's nothing like making a good job of a thing while you're at it," he said. "Going up the lane? All right. I'll call for you after dinner. And take that frown off your face, or you'll frighten Susie into a fit."

Mrs. Hartland saw there was something the matter with the boy, but happily she did not worry him about it, and by the time Dick called he was almost himself again.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, mother," he said as he was going out, "you needn't wait tea for me. I'm going to have mine at the shop. It will save time, Mr. Broad says."

"Have you to work all the evening, Jim?" asked Dick as they went down the street.

"No, I shall be home by eight."

"That doesn't leave you much time."

"Oh, I shall manage. Laythorne is taking all the subjects at school, and I can get in at least two hours extra every day."

As it happened, Jim found in a short time that he was reckoning without his book.

At the close of afternoon school Jim stepped up to the master's desk.

"Do you wish to speak to me?" asked Mr. Laythorne, looking rather surprised.

"Yes, sir," replied Jim bravely. "I want to beg your pardon for my rudeness this morning. Things seemed to go quite wrong somehow, and I was in a bad temper."

"It's very manly to come forward of your own account like this," said Mr. Laythorne pleasantly, "and it does you credit. But you must learn to govern your temper, Hartland, or it will bring you into mischief. How are you getting on for the 'Gayton'? Don't forget that if I can help you in any way I shall be pleased to do so."

"Thank you, sir," replied Jim brightly. "I am hoping to make a good fight for it."

He left the room in good spirits, stopped a minute or two in the playground to chat with Dick, and then ran off to town.

"'Twill be a scramble," he thought to himself, "but I'll pull through. I can put in from half-past eight till ten at night, and from five till half-past six in the morning, besides an hour at dinner-time. That ought to be enough, and five shillings a week will be very useful to mother."

"Pretty punctual, my boy," said the stationer as Jim entered the shop. "I like to see that. Your tea's ready in the kitchen. When you've finished I've something here for you to do."

"Yes, sir," said Jim.

Eager to do his best, and being a smart, intelligent boy, he created a favourable impression at once. Mr. Broad was delighted with him; and that night after closing time, he told his wife that the new boy was a treasure.

"You had better wait a bit before you judge," she replied. "Don't forget that new brooms sweep clean."

Mr. Broad laughed, admitted there was a great deal of truth in the proverb, but all the same maintained his opinion.

Meanwhile Jim had gone home, eaten his supper, and settled down to work. To win this Gayton Scholarship was his one idea, and if he failed it would not be for want of trying. He had heard of the sneer about a paper-boy going in for the "Gayton," and it nettled him.

"I'll beat Perce Braithwaite, anyhow!" he said to himself.

This was the spur that goaded him on, and all that week he devoted every minute of his spare time to study.

"Don't bury yourself too deep," advised the Angel, who, on the Friday evening, walked a part of the way with him, "or we mayn't be able to dig you up again."

"Oh, I'm all right," laughed Jim. "I shall cut you out, Dicky, my boy. I've made a big move this week."

"Glad to hear it," said the Angel cheerfully. "It's the history that bothers me most. I get mixed with the dates and things. I don't think history ought to count: it's mostly rubbish, anyway. Who wants to know about the old kings, and when they lived, and when they died, and who their grandfathers were?"

"Or the Provisions of Oxford," added Jim slyly; at which his churn roared with laughter, though the joke was against himself.

Not long before, Mr. Laythorne had asked his class to name the "Provisions of Oxford," whereupon the Angel, though rather astonished at such a simple question, replied blandly, "The chief provisions of Oxford, like those of other English towns, are bread, meat, all kinds of vegetables, poultry, fish--" And he only pulled up when the suppressed titter of his classmates broke into uncontrollable laughter.

"Laythorne told the Head of that," said Dick, when he had recovered his breath, "and it went the round of the masters. They chaffed me about it at the cricket match; but I don't call it a fair question. I hope I shan't come a cropper like that at the 'Gayton.' Well, I'm off. See you Sunday." And leaving his chum at the shop door, he went away whistling.

That night when Jim was leaving, Mr. Broad said, "I shall want you to do a double round in the morning, and to stay till ten o'clock in the evening."

"Yes, sir," said the boy, though he was sorry at having to lose his own time.

"But you won't be wanted in the middle of the day," continued his master. "As soon as you have finished in the morning you can go till tea-time."

"Oh," said Jim, brightening, "that will be capital," and at once resolved to use the extra time for study. He felt very tired on the Saturday night, but his heart was light and his face smiling when he got home. As a great treat Susie had been allowed to stay up, and Mrs. Hartland had prepared a tasty if cheap supper.

"This is prime!" exclaimed Jim, sniffing at the savoury odour, "and I'm as hungry as a hunter. But, first of all, you had better take my wages, mother." And he put down a tiny pile of silver on the table with the air of a millionaire.

"There's too much here by sixpence," said Mrs. Hartland, counting the coins. "Your master has made a mistake."

"It's all right, mother," replied Jim proudly; "he gave me an extra sixpence for doing my work so well."

"O Jim!" cried Susie, "isn't it splendid? Fancy earning all that money!"

"It will come in handy," said he, "and in a few months I shall be able to earn more. But while we're chattering the supper's getting cold. Sit down mother. You look tired to death."

"Mother's been sewing all day, and the fine work hurts her eyes," observed Susie.

"I'm not as young as I was," remarked their mother, trying to laugh, "and my eyes feel the strain more."

"When I'm a bit older you won't need to work at all," said Jim, who meant what he said. "I'll earn enough for us all."

They lingered a long while over the simple meal, and then Jim helped his mother to carry Susie to her bedroom.

"I shan't call you early in the morning," said Mrs. Hartland, as Jim kissed her good-night; "I think you've earned a rest."

"I wish that horrid exam. was over!" cried Susie; "then you'd have more time to yourself."

*CHAPTER VI.*

*THE EXAMINATION.*

It really seemed as if fate was dead against Jim Hartland's winning the Gayton Scholarship For some time his mother, though saying nothing to the children, had not felt well. The shock of her husband's death, and the consequent change in circumstances, had done much to depress her, and the hard struggle to earn a scanty living had made her worse. She had done her best to keep up as long as possible; but on the Monday morning she was too ill even to get Jim's breakfast.

"Never mind, mother," said he cheerfully; "you stay in bed. I'll see to things. The lessons must go for a bit."

Being a handy sort of fellow, he made breakfast, carried some up to his mother and Susie, straightened things a bit downstairs, and then ran off to his work.

There still remained three weeks till the day of the examination; but, unfortunately for Jim, his mother's illness lasted two-thirds of that time. Mrs. Boden went in as often as she could, and a kindly neighbour did several odd jobs; but there were so many things to be done that Jim found all his time occupied.

"I should chuck the 'Gayton' if I were you," said the Angel one morning. "It will be no good to you if you win it, and with all these upsets you can't expect to be at your best."

"The fellows would think I was afraid of being beaten."

"What's the odds? Who cares what they think? There's no sense in working yourself half to death for nothing."

"Not a bit; but I'm going in all the same."

"Well, you are a stubborn beggar, and no mistake," said his chum, who usually spoke his mind.

The examination was to be held in one of the rooms at the Gayton School, and on the Monday morning the candidates assembled in the big playground.

Jim, who had been granted leave for the day by Mr. Broad, went down with Dick and Tom Moon, who was one of the Magpies. He was feeling wretchedly ill; his head ached, and his brains were all at sixes and sevens. He had worked like a horse all the week to make up for lost time, and was paying the penalty. He had lost all sense of proportion, and it seemed to him that life would be worth nothing if he failed to win this scholarship.

"Hullo!" cried Dick suddenly; "there's Dandy Braithwaite!--Morning, Dandy! Why, you look as pleased as if you'd won the scholarship already!"

"I'm going to have a good shot at it, anyhow."

"Bravo, my boy!--Hullo, Temple! You here?"

"Why not?" asked Temple in surprise.

"I thought you'd more sense, 'pon my word! Now what is the use of you fellows wasting your time when there are three of the Deaneryites in the running?"

The boys who knew the Angel's little ways greeted his remark with good-humoured laughter; the others thought he was a conceited donkey, and some said as much.

"Much plague in India just now, Dicky?" asked Temple mischievously.

"Wait till I've seen the geography questions."

"What's the joke?" asked Tom Moon.

"Haven't you heard of the Angel's little dodge? Why, they fairly screamed over it at the Deanery."

"Look here, Moon," said Dick, without a twinkle in his big blue eyes; "it was a beastly shame, and they treated me most unfairly. We had to write an account of a trip up the Ganges and a visit to Benares. Well, you know there was a horrible plague at Benares just then, and I couldn't afford to risk my valuable life in the town, so I skipped it, stating my reasons. And what do you think they said?"

"Can't guess."

"Why, that 'twas a fake, because I didn't know anything about the blessed old town." And he looked so solemn that Moon was half inclined to think he had been badly treated.

"Did you really put that down?" asked one of the boys in the group.

"Of course I did!" answered Dicky, in a tone of surprise. "They couldn't expect me to go to a plague-spot like that!"

"Didn't I hear some yarn, too, about a dead passenger?" asked Temple.

"Very likely," said the Angel calmly; "that was another misfortune. You see, we had to describe a voyage from London to Odessa, and a very nice little trip, too. Well, my passenger started in a yacht, and had a jolly good time, jotting down his descriptions every night. At last he got into the Adriatic, and the poor fellow fell overboard. The skipper fished him out, but he was quite dead; and so, of course, the trip ended. Now, what do you think the inspector had the conscience to ask me? 'Boden,' said he, 'couldn't you remember any more of the coast-line?' Just as if I'd play a trick like that!"

"Don't cry, Dicky!" observed Temple. "The inspector didn't know you as well as we do, or there would have been no need to ask such a question"--an oracular speech with rather a doubtful meaning.

Jim did not join in the chaff--in fact, he scarcely heard it. His whole mind was absorbed in the forthcoming examination, and he waited impatiently for the door to be opened. When Temple and several of the others spoke to him he answered briefly, and then relapsed into silence.

"What's the matter with him, Dicky?" whispered the popular captain of the Magpies, as they entered the building.

"Too much work. He's been overdoing it, and I shouldn't wonder if he breaks down. He's slaved like a nigger since the news of his father's loss came."

"Poor old chap!" said Temple. "It was hard lines, and no mistake."

The boys passed along a broad corridor, mounted a staircase, and entered a large room. Above the door was a card bearing the words, "Candidates for the Gayton Scholarship."

"Move quietly, please," said a spectacled gentleman standing at a desk. "Each boy will find his name on the desk at which he is to sit."

They were arranged in alphabetic order, and Dick found himself just behind Braithwaite. Jim was in the middle of the room, and Temple at the end. In a short time they were all seated, and the examiner read the rules and regulations. Then his colleague went round with the questions to be answered during the morning, and presently the only sound to be heard was the scratching of busy pens.

After a rapid glance at the paper, Dick settled to work with a pleasant smile; the questions were just to his liking, and he felt sure of doing well in the morning at least. Braithwaite, too, seemed satisfied, while Temple used his pen as if he were master of the situation.

The one boy in the room who appeared ill at ease was Jim Hartland. His face was hot and flushed; there were drumming noises in his ears; letters and figures, all jumbled together, danced wildly before his eyes. At the end of the first half-hour his paper was still blank. Long afterwards, in talking about the examination, he told me that, but for the examiner, he does not think he should have written a single word.

That gentleman, seeing something was amiss, went over, and laying one hand on the boy's shoulder, said kindly, "Are you ill, my lad?"

The sympathetic tone seemed to break the spell, and looking up, Jim answered, "My head aches a bit, sir, but it's getting better now. I think I can make a start."

"That's right, my boy. Time's flying; but you must do your best."

"Yes, sir," said Jim gratefully, and by a great effort he managed to concentrate his attention on the questions. Once started, he worked feverishly to make up for the lost half-hour; but at one o'clock he had to hand in his papers without having gone over them a second time.

Fortunately the interval was too short for comparing notes. There was scarcely time for more than a rush home, a hurried meal, and a run back to be ready for the opening of the doors.

At the gate Jim overtook Braithwaite, who, much to his surprise, said in quite a friendly way, "Done pretty well, Hartland?"

"Pretty well, thanks; how did you get on?"

"Prime! The questions were just made for me."

Just then the Angel came along.

"I say, Dandy," he cried, "how came you to be doing Euclid this morning?"

"Euclid? I wasn't!"

"What were you drawing, then?"

"Why, a map of the United States!"

"Oh!" The blue eyes opened wide with assumed wonder. "I thought 'twas a figure in Euclid."

"Don't be such a fool!" said Braithwaite testily, while the others laughed.

"Wasn't the arithmetic beastly stiff?" grumbled Tom Moon. "Did anybody do that thing about the two trains passing each other?"

"Oh, that was easy enough!" laughed Temple. "It worked out to thirty-seven seconds and a half."

"I got that," said Braithwaite.

"So did I," cried Dick, throwing up his hat. "Well done, Boden, my boy; you'll pull this scholarship off yet!"

Jim said nothing, but his skin burned like fire as he remembered that his answer was more than an hour and twenty minutes.

Just then the doors were opened and the boys trooped into their places. While waiting for the papers to be given out he recalled the sum in question, and soon found what a ridiculous mess he had made of it.

"It's no use," he thought to himself bitterly; "as likely as not I've made as big a hash of the rest."

Once he thought of pleading illness and giving up the struggle. The excuse would not have been without a backing of truth; but, after all, Jim was no coward, and he thrust the idea aside.

"No," muttered he, "I'll see the thing through."

The first subject in the afternoon was history, for which he had always a liking; and when the paper was finished he felt that he had at last done himself justice. Encouraged by this success, he worked away at the others, feeling more and more cheerful at the end of each subject.

"Well," said the examiner, when he came to collect the papers, "are you satisfied?"

"With this afternoon's work, sir," said Jim; "but I'm afraid I lost my chance this morning."

"Oh, you mustn't worry about that. 'Never despair!'--that's the motto, you know!" And the gentleman gave him a good-natured smile as he passed to the next desk.

Outside, the boys clustered together, comparing notes and talking over their doings. Some smiled complacently, others looked rather miserable as they discovered their mistakes.

"The algebra paper was a teaser," remarked Temple, "and as for the last equation, I couldn't do it at all.'

"I don't believe it comes out," said Braithwaite, while Dick admitted with a grin that he had left it untouched.

"Did you have a shot at it, Hartland?" asked Temple.

"Yes," said Jim; "it seemed easy enough, unless I misunderstood it." And with paper and pencil he proceeded to work it out.

"O my aunt!" cried Dick, who was very fond of bringing that worthy person into his conversation "I believe you've got it, Jimmy!"

"Yes," said Temple, "it certainly looks right. That will give you a lift, Hartland; it counts twenty marks."

"Well," replied Jim, thinking of the morning's work, "I shall need them all."

Presently the groups began to break up, and the boys to disperse. Jim still seemed very gloomy, and even his lively little chum found it difficult to bring a smile to his face.

"You haven't to go to the shop, have you?" he asked.

"Not to-night."

"That's jolly; we'll have a good game down at the Old Fort. It's ages since you were down, and the fellows will be glad to see you. Say you'll come, just to please me."

After a good deal of hesitation Jim promised, and the Angel went off whistling merrily. He little guessed what a terrible tragedy he was thus, in an indirect way, helping to bring about.

*CHAPTER VII.*

*"IT'S ALL MY FAULT"*

The port of Beauleigh has a fine harbour and splendid docks generally crowded with shipping. To the west of the harbour lies a sandy bay, while still farther west the coast becomes rugged and dangerous. When the tide is out, the rocks form a favourite playground for the boys of the neighbourhood, as also, at the time of our story, did the Old Fort. This is a ruined tower standing well out in the bay, and approached at low water by a stone bridge built up from the bottom of the sea. The width of this bridge is about sufficient to allow of two persons walking abreast, and here and there pieces have been knocked off by the action of the waves. At high tide it is covered to a height of several feet. The tower itself is so old that its origin was a matter for dispute among many learned men. Some said it had been built as a lighthouse; others that it was a real fort; while a third party declared that its original purpose was to serve as a prison for the king's enemies. The Beauleigh boys, without deciding on these abstruse matters, unanimously voted that it was a jolly place for a good game.

Not having any business there, they found it the more attractive, especially as there was a real element of danger in playing there at dusk. The notice-board marked "Dangerous" and the warning to trespassers added spice to their enjoyment. Now and again it was proposed by the townspeople to demolish the tower, as it no longer served any useful purpose; but somehow nothing was done.

Despite the danger, accidents rarely happened; the last one, in fact, was beyond the memory of even the oldest inhabitant.

Before joining the ranks of the workers Jim had played many a game both on the rocks and at the Fort, and his companions were glad to have him back.

"Here's Jim Hartland coming down with the Angel!" cried one.

Mrs. Hartland, thinking a good game would "blow the cobwebs," had urged him to go with Dick. He had been gloomy enough on the way down, but he brightened up at the boys' welcome, and threw himself heartily into the games. Whether he had done well or badly, the examination was over, and he might as well enjoy his brief holiday.

First they had their favourite military game. For this they divided into two parties--one, under Dick, defending the Fort; the second, led by Jim, trying to force an entrance. The besieged warriors performed prodigies of valour; but the enemy were too strong, and after a desperate fight succeeded in storming the outworks and putting the garrison to the sword. Then the Angel, scorning to surrender, seized his battered flag, and with a shout of defiance, leaped from the battlements, taking particular care, however, to come down where the sand was nice and soft.

After this some one proposed a game of "I spy!" among the rocks, to which the others readily agreed.

As they were scampering along Dick cried out, "Hullo! there's Braithwaite!--Come on, Dandy, and have a game! 'Twill do you good after all that dry stuff at Gayton to-day!"

"All right," replied Braithwaite, who did not often join in these rough sports; "where are you going?"

"Up to the rocks. Come along; we'll give the rest a breather!" And off he went, light of foot and heart and, I am afraid, somewhat light of head. Indeed it was partly owing to one of his mischievous pranks that the incident which I am about to relate occurred.

After playing a considerable time on the rocks, they went back across the bay. It was getting dusk now, and the tide, though still some distance out, was flowing shoreward. Some of the boys, wishing their companions good-night, started for home; five or six gathered at the stone bridge for a chat.

Then it was that Dick Boden made his unfortunate proposal.

"I've thought of a ripping game," said he. "See this knife? I'll hide it somewhere in the Old Fort, and you can try to find it."

"It will soon be dark," objected Braithwaite.

"Not too dark to see the knife, for a bit."

"The tide's coming in too, and you know how fast it comes in just here."

"Oh, go on, Dick!" cried Jim scornfully; "don't take any notice of him: he's always showing the white feather!"

Braithwaite flushed. "You think you're very brave, Jim Hartland," he said, "but you're no braver than any one else. I'm not afraid of going to the Fort."

"Oh, not a bit!" sneered Jim; "you'd walk across to France if the sea was all dry land. Make haste, Dick; we'll come on slowly. Call out when you're ready."

Dick, who was now half-way across, soon disappeared in the ruin, and presently they heard him shouting, "Come on!"

Perhaps the catastrophe might not have occurred even then; but, unfortunately, Jim, who was eager to be first, put out his hand to push Braithwaite aside; whereupon the latter, evidently thinking this a challenge, ran forward. Jim followed with young Moon, and two others brought up the rear.

"Bravo, Dandy!" cried Dick, who was waiting for them. "Now then, spread yourselves out, my amateur detectives, and search for the lost property. Well done, Dandy; you're hot on the scent. O Tommy Moon, O Tommy Moon, I'm sure you'll find it very soon."

Whether Braithwaite remembered the danger I cannot tell, but the others forgot everything in hunting for the knife and listening to Dick's nonsense. Laughing and joking, he led them on, keeping their noses to the grindstone, as it were, though without result.

"I don't believe he's hidden it at all!" grumbled Tom Moon at last, stretching his cramped legs.

"You young fraud!" cried Jim suddenly; "I believe the knife's in your pocket."

"I told you 'twas a ripping game!" chuckled the Angel, preparing to run. "Whoop!" And he was off like a shot.

"After him!" cried Jim. Then from those nearest the bridge came a shout of "Make haste! Quick! quick! The water's in!"

A sudden gust of wind blew Jim's cap into the dry well of the Fort, and a considerable time passed before he could scramble out; then, for a moment, he stood helpless and amazed.

The sky was dark and overcast with black clouds scudding in from the sea; the tide had half filled the bay; the waves were washing the bridge and increasing in violence every second. Dick and the others were racing along the slippery path, and had by this time almost gained safety.

"Thank goodness they're safe!" said he. "Shall I risk it? I think not. I'll climb to the top of the tower till the tide goes down, or perhaps a boatman will take me off."

He was turning to go back when a yell from the shore attracted his attention, and looking along the bridge again, he exclaimed, "Good gracious! what's that fool of a Braithwaite doing? He'll be washed off for certain.--Hi, Braithwaite, Braithwaite! come back! D'you hear? Come back! You'll be all right here in the Fort."

The boy in the middle of the pathway moved neither backward nor forward. It was poor Braithwaite, who, though far from being a coward, was overwhelmed by the startling suddenness of the danger. He could not swim, and the possibility of being drowned unnerved him. Instead of following the others, he had stopped short on the bridge, too dazed to move, though the peril increased every moment.

Even now, with care and a little luck, he might have got safely through, but he did not try. In vain the boys on shore shouted; in vain Jim yelled from the fort; he seemed not to hear.

"He'll be drowned," groaned Jim--"he's bound to be. And," with a sudden rush of memory, "it's all my fault. If I hadn't chaffed him, he would have been at home now."

Raising his voice, he once more shouted, "Braithwaite, Braithwaite, come back; it's quite safe here!" But it appeared as if the unhappy boy had lost all power to move.

It was not only useless, it might be fatal, to wait longer. Taking out his pocket-knife, Jim cut the laces of his boots, slipped them off, and put them in a safe place. Then he laid his coat and waistcoat by them, muttering, "Better go light, in case of accident."

"Keep your footing, Braithwaite!" he yelled; "I'm coming."

Full of their play, the boys had not noticed the signs of the coming storm. It was sweeping in now. The sky had darkened. Across the bay the great white sea-horses were leaping madly at the jagged rocks. The boys on shore had disappeared, but Jim knew the Angel would not desert him.

Cautiously but swiftly he trod the path, over which the waves were breaking with increased violence, leaping and dancing as if in glee. Suddenly a clap of thunder pealed right overhead, and for an instant the town was lit up by a vivid illumination. Jim staggered on, barely able to keep his footing now, for the wash of the waves reached his waist, and the path was deeply submerged. He began to fear that, encumbered by Braithwaite, he would never reach either shore or fort, but he did not quite despair.

"Keep a firm hold, Braithwaite," he cried; "I'm coming!"

From first to last the incident lasted but a short time, though to Jim it seemed a century. He thought or his mother, scarcely recovered from her illness, and of his helpless sister; but most of all he thought that, but for his folly, poor Braithwaite would not now be in danger. Again and again he said to himself, "It's all my fault."

Once more he shouted, "Keep up, Dandy!" but in reply there came a piercing cry--a cry so full of agony that Jim has never forgotten and is never likely to forget it. That which he dreaded from the first had happened. Unable to preserve his footing any longer, Braithwaite had been swept into the water.

Heedless of his own danger, Jim pushed on rapidly, when another scream reached him, and through the gathering dusk he caught sight for a moment of the boy's head above the waves. He was taking a terrible risk, but he could not see him drown; so with a cheery shout he sprang into the sea, and with swift, powerful strokes swam to the aid of his drowning companion.

"Don't struggle, Dandy, and don't catch hold of me," he cried; but the advice was futile. Braithwaite was sinking a second time, and not realizing what he was doing, he clutched his rescuer tightly around the throat.

Jim fought desperately to release himself, and at length succeeded in unlocking the clinging arms. Then, dragging the almost lifeless boy, he rose to the surface, but not before swallowing a large quantity of salt water.

By this time Braithwaite's struggles had ceased, and supporting him with one hand, Jim turned over on his back. Twice he called loudly for help, but no voice replied; on shouting a third time he fancied he heard an encouraging shout in reply.

Alone he would have felt little alarm, but this dead weight tired him. He made scanty progress, and before long felt that he must go down. Still, he never once thought of deserting Dandy; he would save him, or perish in the attempt.

The waves were rolling fiercely, his breast was sore as if beaten with heavy hammers, he gasped for breath, and the salt water poured into his open mouth.

"Help!" he cried, "help!" And surely that was Dicky's voice he heard in answer.

He strained his ears to listen, and the sound came again. He recognized the words now--"Jim! Jim! where are you?"--and put all his remaining strength into one last cry of despair.

Help must come quickly, or it would be too late. His strength was failing, his mind wandering.

"It's all my fault, Dandy," he murmured, "but I'll do my best. I'll stick to you. Look at the star! It's getting bigger and brighter. It's coming this way. Look! it's dancing up and down!" And he broke into loud laughter.

He had ceased swimming now, and was merely keeping himself and his silent companion afloat, almost without knowing that he did so.

*CHAPTER VIII.*

*"DID I SAVE HIM?"*

When Dick Boden ran from the Fort and raised the alarm, he waited till his companions made their appearance; then, expecting they would all follow, he dashed off across the stone bridge. In his opinion, as he afterwards said, the worst that could happen for any one was a few hours' imprisonment in the old tower.

No one looked behind till reaching the shore, and then Tom Moon noticed that Braithwaite had stopped.

"Unless he hurries up, he'll get a jolly good wetting," said Dick, and they all began to shout.

"What a muff the fellow is!" said Moon. "Why doesn't he come? There's Jimmy Hartland just come out; he'll bustle him along."

"Dick," suddenly said one of the other boys in a grave tone, "he'll be drowned, I'm sure." His name was Spencer, and his father being a fisherman, he was well acquainted with the bay.

"Look!" he continued; "just look how high the water is getting! Jim will have to stay in the Fort."

As soon as Dick grasped the danger he sent a boy for help, and with Moon and Spencer ran down the beach.

"Here you are!" he cried, stopping at the boat nearest the incoming tide. "Unfasten her, Spencer.--Light the lantern, Tommy; here's a match. Are the oars there? Right you are!--Now--one, two, three, and all together, boys. Push her along! Now she's riding! In with you!--Give me an oar, Spencer.--You steer, Tommy--straight for Braithwaite."

"No, no," said Spencer hastily; "steer for that rock with the whitewashed top; then swing her round, and we'll pick him up coming back. We should never reach there in a straight course."

"All right!" exclaimed Dick cheerfully; "you boss the show. I don't mind as long as he's saved."

The boys bent their backs with a will: but the boat was heavy, the tide strong, and, as the Angel admitted, the rowing was hardly up to regatta mark. Still they were making progress when Moon called out, "There's Hartland going for him!--Well done, Jim!--Pull, you fellows!"

They tugged away desperately, but suddenly a piercing shriek startled them, and they knew that Braithwaite was fighting for life in the water.

Dick groaned, and pulled till it seemed as if his arms must come out.

"They'll both be lost!" he cried, knowing well that Jim would not hesitate a second in jumping to the rescue.

"There are some men on the shore," said Spencer; "they're getting out another boat."

"Too late!" muttered Dick gloomily. "Listen! There's Jim calling for help. Shout back. Now again, and all together."

The sweat poured down their faces, their muscles ached terribly, their throats were dry and parched, but they pulled on without a second's pause.

Again the cry for help rang out, this time much nearer, and soon they discerned a dark object in the water.

"Keep her steady!" roared Spencer. "Grab the other fellow, Dick!" And he himself caught Jim, and pulled him up so that he partly rested on the gunwale.

The whole manoeuvre was full of danger, but they were taking risks that night. By degrees, Spencer, who was fortunately strong as a horse, managed to pull Jim into the boat, and then helped to drag in Braithwaite, who displayed no sign of life.

"Let's put our coats over them, and that dry sail in the corner," said Dick. "Now, a pull for the shore. Keep her head straight, Tommy!"

News of the desperate situation of the boys had spread rapidly. Numbers of people had assembled on the shore, and cheer after cheer greeted the plucky rescuers as they beached and made fast the boat.

Two or three doctors were among the spectators. Some thoughtful soul had hastily made and sent down a can of hot coffee, while a man from the York Hotel arrived soon afterwards with warm blankets.

"Are they alive?" was the question on the lips of every one, as the doctors ran down to the boat, and a few policemen kept the crowd back.

Dick had already unfastened his friend's braces, and taken off his shirt, in order to expose his chest fully, while Spencer and Tom Moon were doing the same for Braithwaite.

"That's right, my boy," said one of the doctors to Dick. "Now, help me to turn him face downwards. Place one of his arms under the forehead, so, and hold it there while I wipe his mouth."

Dick was half wild with grief; but he did as he was told, though feeling sure in his mind that Jim was dead.

Assisted by another man, the doctor presently turned the body gently on one side, and then back again sharply, Dick supporting the head meanwhile. This movement was repeated many times, and at last the doctor exclaimed with a look of satisfaction, "We've got him; he's beginning to breathe. Slip the trousers off and cover him with a blanket. Now rub his limbs upward, under the blanket. You've saved him, my boy!"

"Is he alive, sir?" asked Dick, hardly able to believe the truth.

"Alive? Yes; he'll be as right as ninepence in a few hours."

As soon as Jim began to breathe he was carried to a hotel close by, where the landlady busied herself to procure hot flannels and hot water-bottles. Then she brought a bottle of old wine, and gave Jim some in a teaspoon, under the doctor's orders.

"Now," said that gentleman, "there's nothing but a few hours' sleep required. Let this youngster stay in the room. I'm going to see how the other poor boy's getting on."

So Dick sat beside the bed on which his friend lay, and wondered what was happening on the beach. After a time Jim stirred uneasily, opened his eyes, and recognized his chum.

"Dick!" he whispered faintly.

"Don't try to talk, old chap. It's all right. Go to sleep."

There was an uneasy look in Jim's eyes, and his forehead puckered up as if he were in thought. Then he said in a whisper, "Did I save him?"

Jim had asked a question difficult to answer, but his chum thought it best to soothe him.

"Yes," said he; "you kept him afloat till the boat came up. Now go to sleep--there's a good chap--or I shan't be allowed to stay with you."

Jim's lips moved as if in speech, but no words passed them, and in a short time he was fast asleep, with a peaceful smile on his face.

Meantime, news of the accident had reached Mrs. Hartland, who, getting a neighbour to stay with Susie, hurried to the hotel, where she was permitted to go into the boy's room to satisfy herself that he was really alive.

"I'm going to stay with him," said Dick, following her to the door, "and the doctor says there's no need at all to worry. Does Susie know?"

"Yes; I couldn't keep it from her. How did it happen?"

Dick told the story briefly, and then, promising to bring Jim home in the morning, he returned to the room. An hour later the doctor came to have another look at his patient, who was still sleeping nicely.

"Hum!" said he, rubbing his hands, "one's better than none, though it is a pity the other slipped past us."

"Is Braithwaite dead, sir?" asked Dick, sinking his voice to a whisper lest Jim should hear him.

"Yes, my boy, I'm sorry to say he is. We've tried hard to restore breathing, but it's no good. How came he to get into the water?"

Dick told him.

"And this lad jumped in to save him? Well, that was very plucky, but none of you had any business there at all."

"No, sir," replied Dick humbly, "but I only thought to have a joke."

"Well, well, I don't suppose you're more to blame than the rest!" exclaimed the doctor; and then, after making a note of Jim's name and address, he said he would call at his house in a day or two.

That was a wretched night for Dick. The kind-hearted landlady brought him in a good supper, and a servant made him a comfortable bed on the floor, but he could not sleep.

"Poor old Dandy!" he murmured again and again, "but for me he would be alive now."

Early in the morning Jim wakened, and in an instant Dick was by his side.

"Feel better, old boy?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm all right. Where's Braithwaite? What's the matter? Why are you looking like that? Is he--_dead_?"

"Yes," said Dick, and no one would have known it was the Angel speaking.

"Then I've killed him! He only went because I called him a coward."

"'Twas as much my fault as yours," said Dick. "I started it. Poor old Dandy!"

Jim did not speak again; and even when, later in the day, he went home, his mother could hardly get a word from him; but at the inquest he told the story without hiding anything, and took all the blame on his own shoulders.

"Braithwaite wouldn't have gone," he said; "only I laughed at him for being afraid."

The whole incident was so plain that the jury at once brought in a verdict of "accidental death," adding a rider that, in their opinion, the Old Fort and the bridge should be destroyed.

The event, of course, caused a tremendous sensation in the town. Many people spoke harshly of Jim, but all admired his courage both in attempting to save the drowning boy and in frankly telling the truth afterwards.

"The lad has grit," remarked the doctor who had brought him round. "I hope he won't take it too much to heart."

He was a Scotsman named Stewart, a pleasant, cheery fellow, well known in Beauleigh both for his ability and kindliness.

"I've a good mind to call and have a look at him," said he. "What's his address?" pulling out his notebook. "Hum! Brook Street! Not very much burdened with this world's goods, I expect."

That same evening Mrs. Hartland was startled by a loud rat-tat, and going to the door, found the doctor there.

"Good-evening!" said he briskly; "are you Mrs. Hartland? I am the doctor who attended your boy, and I've come to have a look at him. No, no; don't make a fuss. I'll come straight through, if you don't mind." And closing the door, he followed Mrs. Hartland into the sitting-room.

"Well, young shaver," said he, patting Jim on the back, "how do you feel now?--better? That was a very plucky thing you did.--You ought to be proud of him, ma'am; he deserves the Society's medal. And who is this young lady?" stooping to touch Susie's hair. "Can't get up? Dear me! that is sad. Any one attending her?"

"Not now, sir. You see, the doctors--"

"Quite so; I understand. Now, suppose I have a look at her in the morning--eh? I've had some experience in these cases. I shan't call professionally--just as a friend of this young gentleman's, you know."

"O sir, how can I thank you?" exclaimed Mrs. Hartland gratefully.

"No need of thanks to any one yet, ma'am; but if I can do the dear child any good, she can thank her brother, because, but for him, I should not be here to-night. Eh, Pussy?" And he pulled Susie's ear playfully.

"Jim tried to save the other boy," said Susie with tears in her eyes.

"Yes, I know, and nearly lost his own life. He was very silly in the first place, but turned out a real hero after all.--Now, Jim, brighten up and look cheerful. You've had a hard lesson; show the world you've learned something from it. What's done can't be undone, and moping won't make things a bit better. Well, I must go.--Good-night, Pussy. Shall we say ten o'clock in the morning? That will suit me nicely." And with a bright smile all round, and a last word of encouragement to Jim, he took his leave.

"O mother," cried Susie, "isn't he a nice man?"

"He is, my dear, and wonderfully clever too, I've heard," replied Mrs. Hartland. "Oh, what a good thing it will be if he can make you stronger!"

They talked about it till bedtime, but Jim was very quiet. He was still thinking of the boy who had gone so suddenly to his death.

*CHAPTER IX.*

*THE RESULT OF THE EXAMINATION.*

There was a subdued air about Mr. Laythorne's class the next morning, and the boys could not keep their eyes from the desk which Percy Braithwaite had occupied. He had not been very popular, but the startling tragedy had gripped their minds, making them feel really sorry for the loss of their schoolmate.

As to Jim Hartland, opinion was divided. Some of the boys rather pitied him, others looked on him as a hero, while a few blamed him outright for being the cause of Braithwaite's death.

"He should have known better," said one. "It might have been all very well for him and the Angel, but 'twas a fool's game to let Dandy into. I don't suppose he had ever gone to the Fort before, even in daylight."

"They must have been blind not to have seen the tide coming in," exclaimed another. "And fancy Dick Boden, the little idiot, letting 'em grub about there, while he had the knife in his pocket all the time!"

"Oh, that's just like one of the Angel's tricks! But he's a good-hearted little chap, and this business has cut him up dreadfully."

Somehow, in the eyes of his schoolfellows, Dick rarely did wrong; and even those who looked askance at Jim were unwilling to say anything against his popular chum.

All this chatter took place in the playground before either of the two boys arrived, for Dick was rather late, while Jim did not get in till after prayers. He winced, too, on seeing the vacant desk, but fortunately his mind was somewhat preoccupied by wondering what Dr. Stewart would be able to do for Susie.

The morning seemed terribly long, but he stumbled through his lessons without actual failure, and as soon as school was dismissed, started for home at full speed. Panting and blowing, he got to the door just as the doctor was leaving.

"Hullo!" exclaimed Dr. Stewart kindly; "there's no need to ask how you are. Well, I've seen your sister. Mother will tell you all about it." And stepping into his gig, he drove off.

Mrs. Hartland's first words brought the blood to the boy's face.

"O Jim," she cried, "he thinks there's a chance for Susie. He won't promise, of course, but he is quite hopeful about it. He has been here nearly two hours, though knowing perfectly well that I can't pay him. And what do you think he has offered to do?"

"I can't guess," replied the boy.

"To get her into the private hospital for children. He's going to send a nurse and a proper invalid-chair in the morning, and attend to her himself, just as if he were charging a big fee."

"He's a real old brick!" exclaimed Jim enthusiastically.

"And he thinks--though, of course, I haven't told Susie--that at the end of six months she may be able to _walk_! He says there was a girl suffering just like Susie in a Scotch hospital, and she was cured. But there is only a chance, of course."

"What does Susie say about going?"

"Well, the poor child is rather timid and nervous but she is quite willing. It's wonderful how she has taken to the doctor."

Before getting his dinner, Jim ran up to his sister, who was in bed, and feeling rather weary after the medical examination.

"Has mother told you?" she asked, smiling bravely.

"Yes. Isn't it glorious? You don't mind going, do you? I shall come to see you on Sundays. And oh, suppose--suppose you should be able to walk some day!"

There was a suspicion of tears in her eyes as she answered, "Don't talk about that, Jim--not yet. I try not to think of it, because it may never happen."

"I believe it will, though," declared Jim stoutly. "The doctor would not say there was a chance unless he felt pretty sure of it."

"Did he say that?" asked the girl eagerly.

"Yes; only you must keep up your spirits and go on hoping all the time. Now I must run off, or I shall be late for school."

At the door she called him back, saying, "I should like to see Dick before I go."

"So you shall. I'll tell him presently, and he'll come in this evening. Old Dick will be as happy as a sand-boy when he hears the news."

As it happened, Jim had no chance to speak to his chum till after school, when, as usual, Dick went a part of the way to the shop with him.

"I'll go in directly after tea," he said, his eyes sparkling. "Poor little midge! 'twill be dreary enough in the hospital; but, I say, fancy her walking! Even if she has to use a crutch it will be something. Well, I'll turn off here and run straight home. Good-night, in case I'm gone when you get back."

True to his word, Dr. Stewart sent a nurse with the famous chair the next morning, and also looked in himself to superintend the removal of his little patient.

"There," said he, "now you're comfortable--eh? Oh yes; mother's coming too. Why, it's quite a royal procession. And on Sunday we shall have our big brother to see how we're getting on--eh, my lassie?"

Brook Street showed unwonted excitement over the child's removal, and discussed it volubly and freely, agreeing on the whole with the crushing remark of Mrs. Archer, whose chief occupation in life was discussing the affairs of her neighbours.

"As much fuss," said she scornfully, "as if she was a real lady! An' her brother goin' round with papers! It's a wonder they don't have a carriage with houtriders and postillions, like the King!"

Meanwhile Susie was taken to the hospital and carried into a room containing four beds. Over one hung a card with "Susie Hartland" written on it, and the child smiled with pleasure on seeing the snowy sheets and soft white pillows and pretty counterpane. Then, when she was cozily tucked up, her mother sat and talked to her cheerfully, and a nurse brought games and picture-books with which she could amuse herself later on.

She cried a little when the time came for parting with her mother, but the nurse was so kind and gentle that she soon dried her tears.

Mrs. Hartland felt the separation too, especially in the evening, when she sat alone with her work. Although an invalid, Susie was always bright and cheerful, and her good spirits had done much to lessen her mother's grief.

The excitement attending his sister's going away had buoyed Jim up, and kept him from moping, but now he began to brood over the unlucky accident at the Old Fort. Although a strong, healthy boy, he was extremely sensitive, and conjured up all sorts things that existed only in his imagination. School no longer had any attraction for him; he cut himself adrift from his old companions, even endeavouring to shake Dick off, but the Angel stuck to him resolutely.

"You're a silly duffer, Jim," said he, with charming frankness. "What's the use of moping about like a barn owl? You did your best to save Braithwaite, and you can't bring him back to life, anyhow. I'm as sorry as you, but pulling a long face won't do any good."