"I am afraid their view is the right one--that the children are too thick on the ground, poor things," sighed Mrs. Todhetley. "Any way, Johnny, it is very hard on the young ones to have to work as poor little Dick did: late and early, wet or dry: and I am glad for his sake that God has taken him." X. A HUNT BY MOONLIGHT. This is another tale of our school life. It is not much in itself, you may say, but it was to lead to lasting events. Curious enough, it is, to sit down and trace out the beginning of things: when we _can_ trace it; but it is often too remote for us. Mrs. Frost died, and the summer holidays were prolonged in consequence. September was not far off when we met again, and gigs and carriages went bowling up with us and our boxes. Sanker was in the large class-room when we got in. He looked up for a minute, and turned his head away. Tod and I went up to him. He did shake hands, and it was as much as you could say. I don't think he was the sort of fellow to bear malice; but it took time to bring him round if once offended. Sanker had gone home with us to Dyke Manor when the holidays began. He belonged to a family in Wales (very poor they were now), and was a distant cousin of Mrs. Todhetley's. Before he had been with us long, a matter occurred that put him out, and he betook himself away from the Manor there and then. But I do not intend to go into that history now. Things had been queer at school towards the close of the past term. Petty pilferings took place: articles and money alike disappeared. A thief was amongst us, and no mistake: but we did not know where to look for him. It was to be hoped that the same thing would not occur again. "My father and Mrs. Todhetley are in the drawing-room," said Tod. "They are asking to see you." Sanker hesitated; but he went at last. The interview softened things a little, for he was civil to us when he came back again. "What's that about the plants?" he asked me. I told him what. They had been destroyed in some unaccountable manner. "Whether it was done intentionally, or whether moving them into the hall and back again did it, is not positively decided; I don't suppose it ever will be. You ought to have come over to that ball, Sanker, after all of us writing to press it." "Well," he said, coldly. "I don't care for balls. Monk was suspected, was he not?" "Yes. Some of us suspect him still. He was savage at being accused of--But never mind that"--and I pulled myself up in sudden recollection. "Monk has left, and we have engaged another gardener. Jenkins is not good for much." "Hallo! What has _he_ come back?"