Norman knew of instances last year in which this had led to serious mischief, and had made up his mind that, at whatever loss of popularity, it was his duty to put a stop to the practice.

He was an ardent cricketer himself, and though the game did not, in anticipation, seem to him to have all the charms of last year, he entered into it with full zest when once engaged. But his eye was on all parts of the field, and especially on the corner by the bridge, and the boys knew him well enough to attempt nothing unlawful within the range of that glance. However, the constant vigilance was a strain too great to be always kept up, and he had reason to believe he was eluded more than once.

At last came a capture, something like that of Tom, one which he could not have well avoided making. The victim was George Larkins, the son of a clergyman in the neighbourhood, a wild, merry varlet, who got into mischief rather for the sake of the fun than from any bad disposition.

His look of consternation was exaggerated into a most comical caricature, in order to hide how much of it was real.

"So you are at that trick, Larkins."

"There! that bet is lost!" exclaimed Larkins. "I laid Hill half-a-crown that you would not see me when you were mooning over your verses!"

"Well, I have seen you. And now--"

"Come, you would not thrash a fellow when you have just lost him half-a-crown! Single misfortunes never come alone, they say; so there's my money and my credit gone, to say nothing of Ballhatchet's ginger-beer!"

The boy made such absurd faces, that Norman could hardly help laughing, though he wished to make it a serious affair. "You know, Larkins, I have given out that such things are not to be. It is a melancholy fact."

"Ay, so you must make an example of me!" said Larkins, pretending to look resigned. "Better call all the fellows together, hadn't you, and make it more effective? It would be grateful to one's feelings, you know; and June," added he, with a ridiculous confidential air, "if you'll only lay it on soft, I'll take care it makes noise enough. Great cry, little wool, you know."

"Come with me," said Norman. "I'll take care you are example enough.

What did you give for those articles?"

"Fifteen-pence halfpenny. Rascally dear, isn't it? but the old rogue makes one pay double for the risk! You are making his fortune, you have raised his prices fourfold."

"I'll take care of that."

"Why, where are you taking me? Back to him?"

"I am going to gratify your wish to be an example."

"A gibbet! a gibbet" cried Larkins. "I'm to be turned off on the spot where the crime took place--a warning to all beholders. Only let me send home for old Neptune's chain, if you please, sir--if you hang me in the combined watch-chains of the school, I fear they would give way and defeat the purposes of justice."

They were by this time at the bridge. "Come in," said Norman to his follower, as he crossed the entrance of the little shop, the first time he had ever been there. A little cringing shrivelled old man stood up in astonishment.

"Mr. May! can I have the pleasure, sir?"

"Mr. Ballhatchet, you know that it is contrary to the rules that there should be any traffic with the school without special permission?"

"Yes, sir--just nothing, sir--only when the young gentlemen come here, sir--I'm an old man, sir, and I don't like not to oblige a young gentleman, sir," pleaded the old man, in a great fright.

"Very likely," said Norman, "but I am come to give you fair notice. I am not going to allow the boys here to be continually smuggling spirits into the school."

"Spirits! bless you, sir, I never thought of no sich a thing! 'Tis nothing in life but ginger-beer--very cooling drink, sir, of my wife's making she had the receipt from her grandmother up in Leicestershire.

Won't you taste a bottle, sir?" and he hastily made a cork bounce, and poured it out.

That, of course, was genuine, but Norman was "up to him," in schoolboy phrase.

"Give me yours, Larkins."

No pop ensued. Larkins, enjoying the detection, put his hands on his knees and looked wickedly up in the old man's face to see what was coming.

"Bless me! it is a little flat. I wonder how that happened? I'll be most happy to change it, sir. Wife! what's the meaning of Mr. Larkins's ginger-pop being so flat?"

"It is very curious ginger-beer indeed, Mr. Ballhatchet," said Norman; "and since it is liable to have such strange properties, I cannot allow it to be used any more at the school."

"Very well, sir-as you please, sir. You are the first gentleman as has objected, sir."

"And, once for all, I give you warning," added Norman, "that if I have reason to believe you have been obliging the young gentlemen, the magistrates and the trustees of the road shall certainly hear of it."

"You would not hurt a poor man, sir, as is drove to it--you as has such a name for goodness!"

"I have given you warning," said Norman. "The next time I find any of your bottles in the school fields, your licence goes. Now, there are your goods. Give Mr. Larkins back the fifteen-pence. I wonder you are not ashamed of such a charge!"

Having extracted the money, Norman turned to leave the shop. Larkins, triumphant, "Ha! there's Harrison!" as the tutor rode by, and they touched their caps. "How he stared! My eyes! June, you'll be had up for dealing with old Ball!" and he went into an ecstasy of laughing. "You've settled him, I believe. Well, is justice satisfied?"

"It would be no use thrashing you," said Norman, laughing, as he leaned against the parapet of the bridge, and pinched the boy's ear. "There's nothing to be got out of you but chaff."

Larkins was charmed with the compliment.

"But I'll tell you what, Larkins, I can't think how a fellow like you can go and give in to these sneaking, underhand tricks that make you ashamed to look one in the face."

"It is only for the fun of it."

"Well, I wish you would find your fun some other way. Come, Larkins, recollect yourself a little--you have a home not so far off. How do you think your father and mother would fancy seeing you reading the book you had yesterday, or coming out of Ballhatchet's with a bottle of spirits, called by a false name?"

Larkins pinched his fingers; home was a string that could touch him, but it seemed beneath him to own it. At that moment a carriage approached, the boy's whole face lighted up, and he jumped forward. "Our own!" he cried. "There she is!"

She was, of course, his mother; and Norman, though turning hastily away that his presence might prove no restraint, saw the boy fly over the door of the open carriage, and could have sobbed at the thought of what that meeting was.

"Who was that with you?" asked Mrs. Larkins, when she had obtained leave to have her boy with her, while she did her shopping.

"That was May senior, our dux."

"Was it? I am very glad you should be with him, my dear George. He is very kind to you, I hope?"

"He is a jolly good fellow," said Larkins sincerely, though by no means troubling himself as to the appropriateness of the eulogy, nor thinking it necessary to explain to his mother the terms of the conversation.

It was not fruitless; Larkins did avoid mischief when it was not extremely inviting, was more amenable to May senior, and having been put in mind by him of his home, was not ashamed to bring the thought to the aid of his eyes, when, on Sunday, during a long sermon of Mr. Ramsden's, he knew that Axworthy was making the grimace which irresistibly incited him to make a still finer one.

And Ballhatchet was so much convinced of "that there young May" being in earnest, that he assured his persuasive customers that it was as much as his licence was worth to supply them.

Evil and insubordination were more easily kept under than Norman had expected, when he first made up his mind to the struggle. Firmness had so far carried the day, and the power of manful assertion of the right had been proved, contrary to Cheviot's parting auguries, that he would only make himself disliked, and do no good.

The whole of the school was extremely excited this summer by a proceeding of Mr. Tomkins, the brewer, who suddenly closed up the footway called Randall's Alley, declaring that there was no right of passage through a certain field at the back of his brewery. Not only the school, but the town was indignant, and the Mays especially so. It had been the doctor's way to school forty years ago, and there were recollections connected with it that made him regard it with personal affection. Norman, too, could not bear to lose it; he had not entirely conquered his reluctance to pass that spot in the High Street, and the loss of the alley would be a positive deprivation to him. Almost every native of Stoneborough felt strongly the encroachment of the brewer, and the boys, of course, carried the sentiment to exaggeration.

The propensity to public speaking perhaps added to the excitement, for Norman May and Harvey Anderson, for once in unison, each made a vehement harangue in the school-court--Anderson's a fine specimen of the village Hampden style, about Britons never suffering indignities, and free-born Englishmen swelling at injuries.

"That they do, my hearty," interjected Larkins, pointing to an inflamed eye that had not returned to its right dimensions. However, Anderson went on unmoved by the under titter, and demonstrated, to the full satisfaction of all the audience, that nothing could be more illegal and unfounded than the brewer's claims.