There was a general chorus of "Yes, sir," and a hearty salute which Mr. Yard gracefully returned. Then the driver cracked his whip, and the brake rolled away, leaving Mr. Yard standing in the roadway. It was three days later, when Jack, folding up the _Western Morning News_, tossed it across to Tubby. "There you are," he said, "pictures and everything. We shall never hear the last of this as long as we live." Tubby caught the paper, and, unfolding it, read out the heavily leaded headlines: ASTOUNDING AUDACITY OF ESCAPED CONVICT. THE NOTORIOUS BILL YARD PLAYS FOOTBALL FOR OKESTOCK FULL STORY AND INTERVIEWS He skimmed quickly through the three columns of description, and then, with a grin, dropped the paper on the floor. "We _do_ look a pretty tidy lot of idiots," he admitted. "I wonder where he is?" Jack shrugged his shoulders. "So do the police. They've no idea what happened to him after he got the clothes. He's simply vanished--disappeared, and my ten shillings with him." Then he paused. "I only wish it had been a quid," he added. "Mine was," said Tubby softly. Elsie and the Rooks It was really a lovely afternoon; there was no doubt about that. Elsie felt very comfortable, and just a little bit sleepy. She was lying back in the big chair under the cedar tree, which was the most shady place in the whole garden. On the lawn the thrushes and sparrows were hopping about enjoying the sunshine; while up at the top of the tall elm trees the rooks were cawing away as if they were all trying who could make the most noise. "I wish I knew what they were talking about," Elsie said to herself. "It would be such fun to shout up something in rook language, and see them all jump. I wonder what 'Caw! Caw! Caw!' means!" She had asked her big brother that very question only the day before. He had laughed, and declared that the rooks didn't say "Caw! Caw! Caw!" It only sounded like it. What they really said was "Cad! Cad! Cad!" because they knew that he was going to shoot them next week. Elsie didn't really believe this, because the rooks kept on saying it the whole time, whether her brother was in the garden or not. Of course, they might be only practising, but it seemed much more probable to Elsie that they had a language of their own. She lay back in the chair and watched them as they fluttered about the tree-tops, or rose in the air in great sweeping circles. In a few more days the baby rooks would begin to fly about. Several of them were out of the nests already, and sat on the twigs looking very miserable and unsafe, while their fathers and mothers hovered round, and jeered at them for being frightened. Elsie thought that it was very unkind of the old rooks; for she was quite sure that it must be a horrible feeling to be perched up at that height on a swaying twig, and not certain whether one could fly if one let go. "I shouldn't like it a bit myself," thought Elsie dreamily.