“Oh!” breathed Queenie, her mouth growing as round as her eyes as she began to understand a little. She had often heard it said that Phil would undoubtedly be expelled some day, if he could not conquer his predilection for playing pranks, and she had secretly wished that he might. “So you have been getting into a row, have you, Phil?” She spoke in an eager whisper, for she delighted in Phil’s natural bias towards mischief and bravado. She never felt more entirely proud of her brother than when listening to accounts of his reckless disregard for rules and his calm defiance when detected. I am afraid Queenie is not the only little girl in existence who shares in this admiration for lawlessness and mischief; and perhaps those of us who have not grown too old to remember how we felt when we were young may understand this naughty feeling, and perhaps sympathize a little with it. After all, if boys never got into mischief, the nursery would be a duller place than it is; and so long as they can be manly and truthful and honest with it all, it is not so very hard to forgive a little “kicking over the traces,” which is common and natural to two-legged as well as four-footed creatures, when first they begin to run in harness. As a rule, they do no great harm, and steady down to the collar in due time. “Do tell me all about it, Phil,” pleaded Queenie, very eagerly. “Have you got into a very bad row this time?” Queenie must be forgiven if she used slang words now and then. With four brothers to teach her, she could hardly have escaped. Phil looked at his sister, and winked his eye in a very knowing way. “I’ve not got into a row at all. I just cut and ran before there was time for the explosion. I’m a fugitive, Queenie! I’ve run away! and now you’ve got to hide me!” “Oh, Phil! Why!” The boy showed his white teeth in one of his own merriest smiles. “Hush! that’s part of the plan. I want to give them a good scare, and then they’ll be so glad to get me safe home they’ll never think of putting me into disgrace; and we’ll just have a jolly summer together, Queenie, you and I, until September comes and I go to Eton. You’ll help me, won’t you? and then we’ll have the best times we ever had in our lives.” Queenie’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, Phil, how splendid! But won’t they send you back to Dr. Steele’s?” “Not they! Besides, he would not have me at any price, the old buffer. He says I’m worse than all the rest of the four dozen put together. Oh no, trust him! He’ll not have me back; and if we only manage to give them a scare at this end, I shall be received with open arms, and they’ll be so glad to get me home safe that they’ll never remember to scold.” “But what have you done, Phil?” asked Queenie. “I want to know all about it.” Phil grinned from ear to ear.