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excuse, as the boy was obviously unfit for any work at all, but he found none, and he was far too tactful to present that worn and welcome blanket as a gift.

So Tony took to the road again.

The abrupt departure of his protégé was briefly reported to Robertson, who was worried, and waited in vain for a letter from Tony himself. Disappointed though he was in the boy’s behaviour, Robertson withheld judgment, having strong suspicions that Baldwin was at the bottom of the trouble. “For that kid was fond of me, and fond of the place,” he thought. “He wasn’t casual and forgetful like most boys of his age, either, but awfully grateful for anything you did for him—I know that. I shan’t get at the truth of the matter till he chooses to write—if then—but I hope he’ll turn up again some time, poor little beggar! He’s as proud as the devil, and he’s only a kid still.” Robertson frowned, and the small brown face with its unchildish mouth haunted him for months.

A little while after his return he met Harper of Starling Creek, who gave him some news.

“You’ve lost your protégé, I see.”

“Yes.” Robertson looked grim. “I’ve been rather worried about him. I can’t quite understand———”

“Well, no—you’d be about the last person to hear, of course. I don’t want to make mischief, but if I were you I’d keep an eye on my working manager. He seems to have an ugly temper, and apparently he had a down on that black-haired boy of yours———”

“Yes, yes. I know that.”

“Sorry, old man. Don’t get impatient. I heard the men speak of it. Sounds low, to pay attention to their gossip, doesn’t it? But you get some useful sidelights at times. It seems that after some months of harrying, he told the youngster to take his boots off for him, which was