At a distance behind them, taking care not to be seen, Stephen Fenton stole along, keeping jealous watch of them. “Aisy, b’ys,” warned Barney, speaking softly. “Take a look at th’ spalpane through th’ bresh here. It’s a dirruty face he has, or me name’s not Mulloy.” “That’s what he has,” nodded Hodge, who took an instant dislike to Fenton. “Who is he? Is that the fellow who was with Miss St. Ives?” “Th’ same, bad cess to him! She was afther callin’ him ‘cousin’.” “He is following them!” exclaimed Harry, softly. “You don’t suppose he will try any crooked work, do you?” “Oi have a fancy Misther Harden can look out for hisself, me lads,” said Barney. “Oi’ll back him against Mr. Fenton.” “Yaw,” said Hans. “When Parney says dot, id peen all right. He knows my pusiness.” Then the Dutch boy relapsed into a position of comfort again, while the jealous spy passed on, watching the couple ahead of him. Five minutes later the boys were startled by the sound of excited voices and a feminine cry of alarm. Barney seemed to be waiting for that sound, for he sprang away like a flash, and Bart Hodge was not far behind him. Through the shrubbery crashed the two, and, in a moment, reached a spot where they were able to see what was taking place. One young man was rising from the ground, while another stood over him, with clinched fists, evidently having knocked him down. To the arm of the latter, begging him not to strike again, clung Iva St. Ives. “Oi knew it!” chuckled Barney in delight. “It’s Fenton thot interfared, an’ th’ other b’y knocked him down.” In truth, Fenton it was who was getting up from the ground, while it was plain that he had been struck by Harden. “Oh, I’ll even this!” snarled the man who had received the blow. “Come on!” cried Harden, whose blood was aroused. “Stop, Cousin Stephen—stop, Mr. Harden!” cried the girl, in distress. “You shall not fight!” “He insulted me!” flamed Harden. “I called you a sneaking cur, as you are!” hissed Fenton, getting upon his feet. “And I knocked you down, as you deserved!” flung back the other young man. “Hurro!” came softly from the lips of the Irish lad. “Thot’s th’ shtuff! Sail in, Misther Fenton, an’ do up th’ spalpane!” At this moment the other boys, with the exception of Browning, came crashing through the hedge, and were by the two young men. Fenton looked up, muttered an imprecation and then sibilated at Harden: “We will settle this some other time!” “At any time you like,” was the prompt retort. Then Fenton whirled and quickly vanished in the shrubbery. “It’s all over,” said Hodge. “Let’s get out of this instanter, for it must be a trifle embarrassing to Miss St. Ives.” This little encounter had revealed to the boys that Fenton was jealous of Harden, who, plainly enough, was paying attentions to Iva.