Gilbert looked at the speaker—Richard Higgs, the son of a bookseller and stationer in Wreyford, and his chief rival at school—and made no reply. Higgs was a tall, wiry youth with a crop of orange-coloured hair surmounting a round, freckled face, out of which a pair of honest green eyes smiled good-naturedly at his school-fellow. "I hope you'll have a jolly fine time these holidays," he proceeded; "I mean to." "Thank you," Gilbert responded, speaking more graciously than usual; "it's awfully good of you to speak so—so generously about the form-prize, for I know you worked very hard to win it." At that moment several other boys overtook them; and, with a nod to Higgs, Gilbert turned away and proceeded alone. Presently he came to the end of the lane, and passed through a narrow opening between two houses into the main street. He had intended going straight home; but reflecting that there was still an hour before dinner-time, he took the opposite direction, and had soon left the town and reached the old stone bridge which crossed the Wrey. It was a beautiful day; the river sparkled like silver in the sunshine, whilst the meadows stretching on either side of the water were yellow with cowslips. Gilbert leaned over the bridge, and gazed into the shadows beneath, watching the small fish which darted hither and thither as though at play. A red-breasted stickleback aroused his interest by turning viciously upon its companions every now and then with wide open mouth, making them flee out of its way at a great rate, as though for their lives. Approaching footsteps caused him to glance up presently, when he saw the figure of a man coming towards him slowly, from the direction of the town—a stranger; he was clad in a thick overcoat although the weather was warm. When he reached the bridge he sat down on one of its low stone walls as if glad to rest awhile, and then Gilbert noticed he looked as though he had been ill, and knew he must be Mr. Willis. The lame boy had never seen the artist before, although Haresdown House had now been inhabited three weeks, and Tom had been there several times, having set up a friendship with Gerald Willis, who had been introduced to him, in the town one day, by Mr. Bailey. Mr. and Mrs. Mickle had called on the newcomers, and Dinah and Dora had renewed their acquaintance with Angel; but hitherto Gilbert had avoided Haresdown House and its inmates; he hated strangers, and would have certainly moved quickly away on this occasion if his curiosity had not prompted him to linger. He glanced at Mr. Willis furtively from under his sullen brows for a few seconds, and saw that the artist looked much younger than he had pictured him; then, seizing his crutches, prepared to move. "I hope I have not disturbed you," said Mr. Willis, smiling; "you are Gilbert Mickle, are you not?" "Yes," the boy answered shortly.