on a dull saturday afternoon robin arkness and his merry men, rigged out for football, passed through the school-yard.

their voices were raised eagerly as they discussed, in a friendly way, who should play on robin's side and who should form a team under the captaincy of little john. almost all they said was, therefore, audible to osbody and his squirms, who, from the windows of the dining-hall, contemptuously watched them depart.

"silly asses, booting a ball about with only themselves to score against," scoffed grain, cracking a walnut between his teeth.

"going by the fuss they make, you'd think it was a match for the world's championship," said niblo, a boy who never wasted pocket-money on regular haircutting.

practically every squirm had some skittish comment of this character to make. as a body they hated football. much more in their line was it to go marching about the premises, annoying the servants and "ragging" inoffensive youngsters. in this way they missed a lot of fresh foxenby air, which would have done them a world of good.

osbody, leader of the squirms, had outdoor ambitions this afternoon, however. the departure of robin and his merry men in the direction of the football field had given him an idea.

"boys," he said, "is there any reason why one gang of foxes, more than any other, should have the shrubbery all to itself?"

"not a bit!"

"confounded cheek on their part!"

"old man wykeham ought to stop it!"

"ours as much as theirs!"

"we're all in one mind about it," said osbody. "so, as arkness and his band of bounders are off leather-chasing, what's to prevent us having a bit of sport ourselves under the greenwood tree?"

with one accord they tumbled to the notion. such a jolly sight less "fag" to walk right into the shrubbery without the painful necessity of fighting their way through its outskirts—a plan of campaign which, with disastrous results, they had twice tried before, on each occasion retiring as a routed and damaged rabble.

singing and shouting and skitting, they slouched in straggling array to the shrubbery. that morning gardeners had been busy lopping the tree branches, many of which were strewn on the ground. some were green and damp, but others crackled crisply when trodden on.

"they'd burn like—like blazes," said grain, not very brilliantly. "what say you, chaps, to lighting a fire where they've had theirs?"

"that'll be clinking," agreed osbody. "not on the spot they last used, though. i guess our squirts made that wet for the winter. a ripping score to make off them, wasn't it, boys?"

"rather!" said niblo, gleefully. "some of them were coughing and rubbing their eyes all next day."

"true. mr. rooke looked in and asked if any of them wanted cough mixture, but they didn't bite!"

"ha, ha! buzz round, boys, and rake up the fuel. if i can't beat robin arkness at fire-making, i'll chew my boot-protectors for a week!"

bold words. but there are days when fires simply will not burn as they should. match after match was struck and thrust vainly into the newspapers which formed the foundation of the pile. some black smoke rose in a languid way, but again and again a fitful breeze blew out the tiny flame.

"somebody must be breathing hard," said osbody, trying to hide his vexation beneath a show of humour. "get round, boys, and fan it with your caps."

"funny thing, this bad luck," grain remarked. "when arkness lights a fire it blazes up like billy-o inside half a minute."

"go on, grain, skit," growled osbody. "'spose you think of me as guy fawkes, unable to set the fireworks going? come and have a whack at it yourself, then, mr. clever!"

grain swaggered nearer. "don't mind if i do," he said. "couldn't very well make a worse boggle of it, could i?"

he knelt beside the fire and drew from his overcoat pocket a brown-paper parcel, through which grease was oozing slightly. this was a bad investment in ham sandwiches, which grain (almost always eating) had found far too fat for his liking.

without opening the package, he scooped a hole for it amongst the newspapers and dry twigs, covered it with spreading boughs, and restarted the fire. it crackled, spluttered, and burst into a blaze, flinging off an unpleasant odour of rancid fat.

still, as a warming spectacle its success was immediate. grain had scored over osbody, the established leader of the squirms, and made but a poor effort to conceal his satisfaction.

"smart!" sneered osbody. "since when did you start out hawking lard and dripping, grain?"

this was the sort of bickering which was always going on between the two leading spirits of the squirms. you never get a pleasant atmosphere where fellows are always trying to score off one another.

for a moment there was a waspish interchange of sarcastic remarks all round. then niblo, less peevish than the rest, started them off round the fire in a mock indian war-dance, which warmed their blood and put them in a better temper.

"rather a jolly stunt, niblo, old boy," said osbody. "gives me a rattling good idea for a new band—one that should chew the ears off robin hood and his merry men."

"out with it, 'body, my bantam," niblo said.

"it's this—why shouldn't we all be wild west cowboys, with buffalo bill as the head of the band?"

"bravo! hurrah!" cried some of the squirms.

"i reckon it would be tophole," went on osbody, flushing with excitement. "we'd have such fun as never was. i'd be buffalo bill——"

"of course!" grain dryly commented.

"and we'd go on the trail and hunt buffaloes and scalp red indians, and—and—well, do all those topping things you see 'em perform at the picture-shows. now, boys, all in favour of a buffalo bill band, hands up!"

shouts of approval signified an almost unanimous consent.

"then squat round the fire, my cowboys, and we'll talk over the details," said osbody.

"fire's too low," grain said. "gone down while we were doing the tomahawk crawl. wants something on it to make a rattling good flare. what price the fibre-matting which is chucking about over yonder? jove, it wouldn't half burn."

"so would our ears when the masters had finished clouting them," osbody observed. "matting doesn't grow on trees. the gardeners have left it there."

"shows they've no use for it, then," grain persisted. "come on, boys, bring it to the fire."

"no, no," osbody said. "it's there for a purpose. covering up saplings from the frost, perhaps."

"covering up fiddlesticks!" scoffed grain. "they've chucked it there to get rid of it. christmas, won't it blaze! who'll join me in fetching it?"

"it means a furious swishing for whoever does," was osbody's warning.

"pooh, 'body, old man, you're afraid!" grain jeered.

the taunt reddened osbody's cheeks still more, but he had the courage to stick to his guns.

"rotto!" he exclaimed. "i like a lark, but this is sheer fatheadedness. don't we get hidings enough without seeking them?"

"who'll get a hiding?" argued grain. "not us, if anybody. every master and prefect in foxenby knows who prowls round this shrubbery. supposing the matting is missed, then who'll 'click' the blame for it?"

"robin hood and his merry men," said niblo. "i see your drift, grain."

"come, osbody, be a man," grain urged. "you can see there's no risk. robin's 'put it across you' more than once lately. what a fine chance of getting your own back!"

osbody hesitated. his sporting instincts were not altogether dead. in better company he would have realized that grain's proposal savoured of a dirty trick. but he lived always in hopes of "doing down" robin arkness, whose successful rivalry had lately thrown him very much in the shade. temptation assailed him strongly: he wavered and fell!

"in for a lamb, in for a sheep, chaps," he said. "come along! we'll fire the matting."

without giving his conscience any further time to prick, he darted across to the huge sheets of fibre-matting, clutched one, and dragged it towards him.

then up before his astonished sight there sprang suddenly a bunch of sturdy young figures in football costumes, while from under other similar coverlets emerged the remainder of robin hood's merry men, with challenging cries that struck terror to the hearts of the dumbfounded squirms.

"caught!" cried robin, leaping straight at osbody. "have at them, my merry men."

"you rotten sneaks, skulking about in there after pretending to start for footer," cried osbody, in mortified fury. "stand your ground, chaps, and slug 'em!"

he certainly set them a gallant example. whatever his failings, funk was not one of them, and he gave robin measure for measure in a rough-and-tumble encounter, more like a wrestling-match than a bout of fisticuffs.

old enemies amongst the rest picked each other out and came to grips, but not more than half of the squirms faced the music. the remainder ran from the sudden appearance of the merry men as they would have galloped from ghosts, and their judgment was good, for those of their gang whom they left behind were in for a sorry time indeed.

a dozen of them were collared and held captive almost at the first attempt. "i yield, i yield!" they cried, in craven chorus.

not that they lacked reason for giving in so soon on this occasion, because the flight of the majority left them hopelessly outnumbered.

their arms were pinned behind them, and they were unceremoniously bustled out of the way of the very much severer bouts which were taking place between robin and osbody, and between grain and little john. osbody and grain had far more "ginger" in their natures than any of the other squirms, and the merry men gave them every chance to fight it out, confident that robin and little john would sooner or later prove themselves the victors.

twigs snapped sharply beneath the combatants' feet as they pushed one another to and fro in determined efforts to bring about a fall. but with arkness and flenton there rested all the moral advantage that comes of fighting in the presence of friends, and slowly but surely the tide of battle turned in their favour.

"you've got him this time, robin!" somebody shouted. "his back's bending; he'll be down in a second."

osbody made a last gallant effort to prove that this prophecy was all wrong, and managed to spin out the struggle half a minute longer. then over he went with robin on top of him, and almost simultaneously little john succeeded in putting grain flat on his back.

"hurrah!" cried the merry men, rushing to the spot to relieve robin and little john of the custody of the vanquished squirms.

"by jove, that was a tough job," robin panted. then, remembering the part it was his delight to play, he continued:

"chins up, foemen, for i would have speech with ye. little did ye guess, when ye talked of burning the matting and letting the blame fall on me and my merry men, that beneath it i and they lay snugly hidden, ready to pounce out upon ye, and drub ye soundly for such villainous behaviour."

"villain yourself!" snapped osbody. "who pretended to go footballing, and sneaked round here instead? you and your dirty dogs of men!"

"bandy not such words with me, caitiff, or it shall go hard with thee and thy crawling squirms. fair as the day was the trick we played on ye—a stratagem to draw ye to the forest, whither ye would have been too chicken-hearted to venture had ye thought to meet us there. yet ye and grain have fought a good fight to-day, and i am minded to treat ye well."

"i don't want any of your favours," said osbody, sulkily.

"i will give thee the chance, nevertheless," said robin. "tell me the names of those who put out our fire with garden-syringes, and all but choked us into the bargain."

"shan't!" said osbody.

"thou flatly refuseth, then, to hand the miscreants over to justice?"

"what miscreants? what justice?"

"a murrain on thee for thy saucy back-talk! there will be more trouble than thou wottest of if thou dost not speedily humble thy pride."

osbody could see that robin was in a mighty passion at the recollection of the quenched fire, and the heart of the leader of the squirms sank within him. he was just about to make a clean breast of it when, glancing at grain, he saw that youth looking at him with contemptuous eyes, as much as to say: "i know you're going to blab to save your precious skin." for it was grain who had planned and carried out the squirting scheme, besides insisting on mixing chemicals with the fluid, a notion which osbody had condemned as dangerous.

grain's sneering gaze stiffened osbody's back.

"you can save your breath, arkness," he said. "you know as much about it as you ever will."

"all right, you chump!" answered robin, dropping back into modern speech. "if you will ask for it, you shall have it, and not only you, but every one of your gang that we've got trussed up to-day, innocent and guilty alike. boys, bring the master squirm to the old bonfire."

laughing in gleeful anticipation of what was to come, the two merry men who held osbody fast dragged him, kicking and struggling, to the ashes of the bonfire which the squirms had previously extinguished with squirts. beside this robin knelt, scooping up a generous handful of black ashes.

with a quick inkling of what was coming, osbody redoubled his efforts to get free. finding himself too well held, he panted:

"here, what's the game? none of your dirty tricks on me, now!"

"you sing loudly," said robin, "so i'll make a nigger minstrel of you. hold him tight, my merry men!"

thereupon he rubbed upon osbody's neck and face the whole handful of bonfire ash, smelling pungently as it did of mingled wood and acid.

osbody yelled furiously at first, but was compelled to close his mouth to prevent his tongue being coated with the ash. very soon his grey eyes shone comically out of a coal-black face, and the ludicrous sight he presented made the merry men laugh so much that they were in some danger of releasing their captives.

"you filthy brutes, you shall suffer for this," osbody howled, with difficulty suppressing tears of mortification.

"you filthy brutes, you shall suffer for this"

"you filthy brutes, you shall suffer for this"

"why, knave, what ailest thee? art thou not being adorned by the lovely chemical dye which thee and thy henchmen made? i have changed thy mealy countenance into a glossy black one, and yet thou slingest abuse at me. a plague on thee for thy ingratitude!"

"he looks just like a shoe-polish advertisement!" gurgled will scarlet, between his paroxysms of mirth.

"i'll knock the face off you, when i get at you, ponder!" stormed osbody.

"you'll have to wash your own better than usual first," ponder smartly retorted.

"six paces to the rear with him," commanded robin. "prithee, grain, if thou mindest not my chaff, step forward to receive thy new complexion."

grain did no stepping forward—he was forcibly propelled by merciless knees from behind. ash there was in plenty, and robin did not stint it. in generous measure he smeared it all over grain's features, being quick enough to save his fingers from the snapping teeth which viciously strove to bite them.

"now there are two little nigger boys," said robin, giving a final deft touch to grain's chin. "bring along another eight squirms, and then there'll be ten."

what aching ribs the merry men acquired as the wriggling squirms, one after another, had their faces well blackened by the charcoal of the fire! no revenge could have been more deliciously sweet. in vain did the wailing victims threaten to inform their respective housemasters if the performance did not cease. there was not a merry man who believed that they would dare to peach, nor, for the matter of that, was there one who would not have taken a swishing in preference to missing a lark such as this.

"now," said robin, "every mother's son of you would make an excellent man friday to robinson crusoe."

"perhaps they'd rather think of themselves as the cannibals of monkey island," david of doncaster suggested.

"whichever they like," said robin. "oh, i can't laugh any longer—i'm positively weak with it! rush them to the forest edge, merry men, and give them a flying send-off. good-bye, you gentlemen of colour!"

knowing themselves to be fearful figures of fun, the limp and groaning squirms allowed their rivals to push them out of the shrubbery and send them flying into the school-yard. not even osbody and grain had any fighting spirit left. holding their caps over their faces to hide themselves as best they could, they made a bee-line for the kitchens, where soap and hot water would be plentiful.

"oh, what a scream!" cried will scarlet. "i believe i've cracked a rib with laughing. they'll never forget this as long as they live!"

"i'm not so sure that we haven't done them rather a good turn than a bad one," said robin. "they will have to wash themselves to-day, if never before!"