“If anything COULD make me sneak, THAT would!” he said. “Come, Phil,” and marched out of the signal-box with flaming cheeks. Phyllis hesitated. Then she took the hand, still held out stupidly, that the shillings had been in. “I forgive you,” she said, “even if Peter doesn't. You're not in your proper senses, or you'd never have done that. I know want of sleep sends people mad. Mother told me. I hope your little boy will soon be better, and--” “Come on, Phil,” cried Peter, eagerly. “I give you my sacred honour-word we'll never tell anyone. Kiss and be friends,” said Phyllis, feeling how noble it was of her to try to make up a quarrel in which she was not to blame. The signalman stooped and kissed her. “I do believe I'm a bit off my head, Sissy,” he said. “Now run along home to Mother. I didn't mean to put you about--there.” So Phil left the hot signal-box and followed Peter across the fields to the farm. When the farm men, led by Peter and Phyllis and carrying a hurdle covered with horse-cloths, reached the manhole in the tunnel, Bobbie was fast asleep and so was Jim. Worn out with the pain, the Doctor said afterwards. “Where does he live?” the bailiff from the farm asked, when Jim had been lifted on to the hurdle. “In Northumberland,” answered Bobbie. “I'm at school at Maidbridge,” said Jim. “I suppose I've got to get back there, somehow.” “Seems to me the Doctor ought to have a look in first,” said the bailiff. “Oh, bring him up to our house,” said Bobbie. “It's only a little way by the road. I'm sure Mother would say we ought to.” “Will your Ma like you bringing home strangers with broken legs?” “She took the poor Russian home herself,” said Bobbie. “I know she'd say we ought.” “All right,” said the bailiff, “you ought to know what your Ma 'ud like. I wouldn't take it upon me to fetch him up to our place without I asked the Missus first, and they call me the Master, too.” “Are you sure your Mother won't mind?” whispered Jim. “Certain,” said Bobbie. “Then we're to take him up to Three Chimneys?” said the bailiff. “Of course,” said Peter. “Then my lad shall nip up to Doctor's on his bike, and tell him to come down there. Now, lads, lift him quiet and steady. One, two, three!” * * * * * * Thus it happened that Mother, writing away for dear life at a story about a Duchess, a designing villain, a secret passage, and a missing will, dropped her pen as her work-room door burst open, and turned to see Bobbie hatless and red with running. “Oh, Mother,” she cried, “do come down. We found a hound in a red jersey in the tunnel, and he's broken his leg and they're bringing him home.” “They ought to take him to the vet,” said Mother, with a worried frown; “I really CAN'T have a lame dog here.” “He's not a dog, really--he's a boy,” said Bobbie, between laughing and choking. “Then he ought to be taken home to his mother.”