"Not this time," replied Sam, with a forced laugh, as he looked at the fellow. "Like pears?"

"Ah!"

"Here then."

Sam took a well-grown hard Marie Louise pear from his pocket, and Tom stared. "Catch."

The pear was thrown, caught deftly, and transferred to a pocket in Pete's ragged trousers where a forgotten hole existed, and the fruit was seen to run down the leg and re-appear by the lad's boot. Pete grinned, picked it up, and put the fruit in a safer place.

"Catch again!" cried Sam, bringing out another pear, and throwing it this time with all his might, evidently with the intention of hitting the lad a sharp blow.

But the pear was caught as it struck in Pete's palms with a smart _spang_, and was duly transferred to the lad's pocket.

"What a shame!" thought Tom. "Uncle's choice pears, and they were not fit to pick."

"Got any more?" cried Pete.

"Yes, one. Have it?" said Sam, drawing out the finest yet, but disfigured by the marks of teeth, a piece having been bitten out, and proving too hard and green to be palatable. "Now then, catch."

This one was thrown viciously as a cricket-ball by long-field-off. But Pete's eyes were keen; he had seen the white patch on the side of the fruit, and instead of trying to catch it, he ducked his head, and let it go far away among the fir-trees, the branch of one of which it struck, and split in pieces.

"No, yer didn't," said Pete, grinning. "I say, chuck us another sixpence."

"Not this time," said Sam, puffing again at his cigarette and then staring at Tom, who suddenly threw off the feeling of hesitation which had kept him back, and made a rush forward in the direction taken by the pear.

"Where are you going?" cried Sam. "You've got plenty at home."

But Tom paid no heed; his eyes were fixed on the spot where Pete had stood when he took out his pipe, and made for it.

Pete's eyes had grown sharp from the life he led in the woods, and amongst the furze of the great heath-like commons, and he saw now the object which had fallen from his pocket. His sluggish manner was cast aside, and, as if suddenly galvanised into action, he sprang forward to secure the little object lying half hidden upon a tuft of ling.

The consequence was a smart collision, the two lads' heads coming violently in contact, and, according to the conclusions of mathematicians, flying off at a tangent. The next instant Tom and Pete, half-stunned, were seated amongst the furze gazing stupidly at each other.

Tom was the first to recover, and, bending forward, caught up a bit of twisted bra.s.s wire, secured to a short length of string, before rising to his feet.

Then Pete was up, while Sam smoked and laughed heartily.

"Here, that's mine," cried Pete; "give it to me."

"No," cried Tom, thrusting the wire into his pocket; "you've no business with a thing like that."

"Give it to me," growled Pete, "or I'll half smash yer."

"_You_ touch me if you dare!" cried Tom fiercely.

"Bravo! ciss! Have it out!" cried Sam, clapping his hands and hissing, with the effect of bringing the dog trotting up, after doing a little hunting on its own account.

"You give me that bit of string back, or I'll set the dog at yer," cried Pete.

"I shall give it to Captain Ranson's keeper," cried Tom; and Pete took a step forward.

"Fetch him then, boy!" cried Pete, clapping his hands, and a fray seemed imminent, when Tom unclasped the hands he had clenched, rushed away a few yards, and Sam stood staring, ready to cheer Pete on to give his cousin a good hiding as he mentally termed it, for his cousin seemed to him to have shown the white feather and run.

Then he grasped the reason. Tom had not gone many yards, and was dancing and stamping about in the middle of some smoke rising from among the dead furze, and where for a few moments a dull flame rose amidst a faint crackling, as the fire began to get hold.

"Here, Sam! Pete!" he shouted, "come and help."

But Sam glanced at his bright Oxford shoes and well-cut trousers, and stood fast, while a malignant grin began to spread over Pete Warboys'

face, as the dog cowered shivering behind him, with its thin tail tucked between its legs.

Pete thrust both hands down into his pockets, but did not stir to help, and Tom, after stamping out the fire in one place, had to dash to another; this being repeated again and again in the exciting moments.

Then he mastered it, and a faint smoke and some blackened furze was all that was left of what, if left to itself, would have been a great common fire.

"All out?" said Sam, as his cousin came up hot and panting. "Why, what a fuss about nothing."

"Fuss!" cried Tom excitedly; "why, if it had been left five minutes the fir-wood must have caught."

"Bah! green wood won't burn."

"Oh, won't it?" cried Pete. "It just will. Here, you give me my bit o'

string, or I shall go and say I see yer set the furze alight o'

purpose."

"Go and say so then," cried Tom. "No one will believe you. Come along, Sam."

Tom gave one more look at the blackened furze, and then turned to his cousin.

"Look here," he said; "you bear witness that this fire is quite out."

"Oh, yes; it's out," said Sam.

"And that Pete Warboys showed us a box of matches."

"Yes, but what of that?"

"Why this," said Tom; "if the fire breaks out again, it will be because this fellow has set it alight."

Pete's features contracted, and without another word he slouched away into the wood and disappeared, followed by his dog.

"I say, you hit him there, Tom," said Sam, with a laugh. "Think he would have done it?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well, a bit of a bonfire wouldn't have done much harm."

"What!" cried Tom, looking at his cousin aghast. "Why, hundreds of acres of fir-trees might have been burnt. Uncle said there was a small patch burned one year, and there is so much turpentine in the trees, that they roared away like a furnace, and if they had not stood alone, the mischief would have been terrible."

"Then you think that chap had set the furze alight before we came."