"But the tree, Carnaby, the plum tree!" cried Lavendar. "My young Goth, hadn't you a moment's compunction? That beautiful, flowering thing, as your cousin called it; could you destroy it without a pang?" "The _tree_?" echoed Carnaby with unmeasured scorn. "What's a tree? It's just a tree, isn't it?" "A primrose by a river's brim A yellow primrose was to him, And it was nothing more!" quoted Mark, despairingly. "Well; and what more did he expect of a primrose, whoever the Johnny was?" asked the contemptuous Carnaby. "At any rate," commented Lavendar, "it isn't necessary to search as far as Peter Bell for an analogy for your character, my young friend! You are your grandmother's grandson after all!" "In some ways I suppose I can't help being," answered Carnaby soberly, "but not in all," he added, and suddenly turning red he fumbled in his pocket and produced a coin which he held out to Lavendar. "It's only ten bob," he said apologetically, "and I wish it was a jolly sight more! But please give it to old Mrs. Prettyman to make up a bit for the loss of her plums. Daresay I'll manage some more by and by. Anyway, I'll make it up to her when I come of age.--I'm nearly sixteen already, you know. Be sure you tell her that!" But Lavendar refused to take the money. "Mrs. Prettyman is provided for, my boy," he said. "She has become your cousin's especial care. You need have no fear about that. The poor old woman is very happy and will have a cottage more suited for her rheumatism and her general feebleness than the present one. But I think your cousin will understand your motives and believe that you meant well by old Lizzie in your little piece of midnight madness." "Though I was a bit rough on the plum tree!" said Carnaby, with a broad smile. "You think it's a laughing matter?" Lavendar asked indignantly. "I wish you had my father to deal with, and Waller R. A.! It's all very well for you." But Carnaby only laughed. The blood was still hot in his veins, and the joy of his night's adventure. Mark told him that he and Mrs. Loring were crossing the river at once to see for themselves the extent of his mischief and what effect it had had upon old Mrs. Prettyman. Carnaby observed with diabolical meaning that as he had not been invited to join the party, he would make himself scarce. Gooseberries, he said, were very good fruit, but he wasn't fond of them; so he lounged off with his hands in his pockets. Suddenly he turned. "See here, old Mark! You'll speak a word for me with Cousin Robin, won't you? It's hard on me to have her hate me when I was trying to do my best to please her." "She won't hate you; she couldn't hate anybody," said Lavendar absently, watching first the door and then the window. "You say that because you're in love with her! I've a couple of eyes in my head, stupid as you all think me. You can deny it all you like, but you won't convince me!"