His mind delighted with the prospect of attending the Grammar School, and with airy dreams of what that existence would be, he left the rectory and wended his way with light steps down the walk and out on the public road. The sun seemed to smile brighter upon him, the birds to warble sweeter, and all nature seemed to be tinged with the bright hues of his day dreams of the future. There were voices in the distance, boyish voices, and with laugh and rude joke, a crowd of parish school lads, bubbling with spirits, surged around a neck of woods. The master had given them a half-holiday and they were bound to the Giant's Quoit, a huge rock said to have been used as a plaything by the ancient Cyclops of Cornwall. [Illustration: "Yes, give three hoots for the red-'eaded Deane and all his traitor hancestors"] "'Allo, come along, Ande, will 'ee?" exclaimed Tommy Puckinharn. "No, can't go," replied Ande, shaking his head. He must go home and talk with his mother over the great prospects of attending the Grammar School. "Naw,--'e must ask 'is mawther fust," cried Bully Bob, with a great coarse laugh. The laugh and the reference to his mother stung Ande, but he pretended not to notice. "'E's getting up too far now in society to 'sociate with we; 'e was calling on squire some time ago, and squire give 'im the seat of honour--fact," said Bob with a wink and a grin that seemed to bring forth additional grins upon the countenances of several of his satellites. Ande stood for a moment, irresolute, then resumed his way. "Les give three hoots for the red-'eaded Deane and all his traitor hancestors." The last was too much for the impatient spirit of the lad to brook. Turning about and with a calm, steady voice, he cast his gauntlet at Bob in the shape of a few words in the dialect, equivalent to a challenge to battle the world over. "Bob, thee'rt a great, ghastly coward, and thee knaw it." A wave of redness swept over Bob's face, completely drowning the freckles with which it was freely sprinkled. "'Ow's that! I 'ave a good mind to scat thee in the chacks for thy himpudence, m'lad." And then in a tantilising manner, as Ande approached, he continued, "Thee art a traitor, for thy faather and grandfaather were traitors. Everybody knaws they were traitors and cowards hout in blooming hold America." The words had hardly emanated from his lips when--smack!--went Ande's hand on the mouth that had spoken this base libel. A thrill of expectancy passed over all the crowd, a thrill of amazement, awe, vivid interest. "Damme," said Bob, as he spat his blood and froth from his lips, "I'll make 'ee think Saint Michael's Cormoran had 'ee when I get done weth 'ee. Wilt fight or must I knack 'ee down?" There was no occasion to ask, for Ande, boiling with rage, was coming at him with a rush, when a deep voice from the side of the hedge cried, "'Old hard, there a-bit." Tom Glaze vaulted the neighbouring hedge and strode forward into their midst.