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them, and every one had to get down. Then the horses ran away, and

here we are."

"Then there are two of those highwayman chaps with the passengers,"

one of the men said.

"You need not be afraid of them," Tom said carelessly; "one got shot,

and I don't know about the other, but the wheel of the coach went over

him, so I do not suppose he will be much trouble. Now, if I were you,

I should not stand staring any more, but should make haste and take

the coach back."

"Hullo, look at this grey," one of the men exclaimed, as, at last

understanding what had taken place, they began to bustle about to

change horses. "He's got blood all over the side of his head. One of

those scoundrels has shot him through the ear."

Tom burst out laughing. "I am the scoundrel!" he said. "Peter, that

explains why we went off so suddenly. I missed the fellow, and hit the

leader in the ear. However, it comes to the same thing. By the way, we

may as well take the pistols."

So saying, he ran up the ladder and brought down the pistols. By this

time the fresh horses were in.

"I can't make nought of it," one of the ostlers said, climbing up into

the coachman's seat. "Jump up, Bill and Harry. It's the rummiest go I

ever heard of in coaching."

"Landlady, can you get us some tea at once, please," Tom said, going

up to the landlady, who was looking on from the door of the house

with an astonishment equal to that of the men at the whole affair;

"as quickly as you can, for my sister looks regularly done up with

fatigue, and then, please let her lie down till the coach is ready to

start again. It will be three quarters of an hour before it is back,

and then, I daresay, there will be a lot of talking before they go on.

I should think they will be wanting breakfast. At any rate, an hour's

rest will do you good, Rhoda."

Rhoda was too worn out with the over-excitement even to answer.

Fortunately there was hot water in order to make hot grog for the

outriders of the coach, some tea was quickly made, and in ten minutes

Rhoda was fast asleep on the landlady's bed.

Tom and Peter expressed their desire for something substantial in the

way of eating, for the morning had now fairly broken. The landlady

brought in some cold meat, upon which the boys made a vigorous attack,

and then, taking possession of two benches, they dozed off until the

coach arrived.

It had but three horses, for one had been sent off to carry Bill,

the ostler, at full speed to the town at which they had last changed

horses, to fetch a doctor and the constable. The other two men had

remained with the guard, who was shot in the hip, and the highwayman,

whose collar-bone was broken by Peter's shot. The fellow shot by the

guard, and the other one, whom the coach wheels had passed over, were

both dead.

"There's the coach, Tom."

"What a nuisance, Peter, they'll all be wanting to talk now, and I am

just so comfortably off. Well, I suppose it's no use trying to get any

more sleep."

So saying, they roused themselves, and went out to the door just as

the coach drew up.

There was a general shout of greeting from the passengers, which was

stopped, however, by a peremptory order from the coachman.

He was a large, stout man, with a face red from the effects of wind

and exposure. "Jack," he said, to a man who was standing near, for

the news of the attack upon the coach had quickly spread, and all

the villagers were astir to see it come in. "Jack, hold the leader's

head. Thomas, open the door, and let the insides out. Gents," he said

solemnly, when this was done, "I'm going to do what isn't a usual

thing by no means, in fact, I ain't no precedence for doing it; but

then, I do not know any precedence for this here business altogether.

I never did hear of a coachman standing up on his box to give a cheer,

no, not to King George himself; but, then, King George never polished

off two highwaymen all to himself, leastway, not as I've heard tell

of. Now, these two young gents have done this. They have saved my

coach and my passengers from getting robbed, and so I'm going to give

'em three cheers. I'll trouble you to help me up into the box seat,

gentlemen."

Assisted by the other passengers, the driver now gravely climbed up

into the box seat, steadied himself there by placing one hand upon

the shoulder of the passenger next him, took off his low-crowned hat,

and said. "Follow me, gents, with three cheers for those young gents

standing there; better plucked ones I never came across, and I've

traveled a good many miles in my day."

So saying, he gave three stentorian cheers, which were echoed by all

the passengers and villagers.

Then there was a momentary silence, and Tom, who, with his brother,

had been feeling very uncomfortable, although rather inclined to

laugh, seeing that he was expected to say something, said, "Thank you

all very much; but we'd much rather you hadn't done it."

Then there was a general laugh and movement, and a general pressing

forward of the passengers to shake the boys by the hand. The driver

was assisted down from his elevated position, and got off the coach

and came up to them. "That's the first speech I ever made, young

gentlemen, and, if I know myself, it will be the last; but, you see,

I was druv to it. You're a good sort, that's certain. What will you

drink?"

The boys declared for beer, and drank solemnly with the driver,

imitating him in finishing their mugs at a draught, and turning them

topsy-turvy. There was now a great deal of talking, and many questions

were asked. Tom and Peter modestly said that there was really nothing

to tell. They saw that the gentleman next to them intended to use his

pistols; but, not seeing a good opportunity, put them down behind the

tarpaulin, and the thought occurred to them that, by slipping behind

it, they would get a good chance of a certain shot. Accordingly, they

had fired, and then the horse had run away; and there was an end of

it. There was nothing extraordinary in the whole matter.

"At any rate, my boys, you have saved me from a loss of a couple

of hundred pounds which I had got hid in my boots, but which those

fellows would have been sure to have have discovered," one of the

passengers said.

There was a general chorus of satisfaction at many watches and

trinkets saved, and then the first passenger went on,--

"I propose, gentlemen and ladies, that when we get to the end of our

journey we make a subscription, according to the amount we have saved,

and that we get each of these young gentlemen a brace of the very best

pistols that can be bought. If they go on as they have begun, they

will find them useful."

There was a general exclamation of approval, and one of the ladies,

who had been an inside passenger, said, "And I think we ought to give

a handsome ring to their sister as a memorial through life. Of course,

she had not so much to do as her brothers, but she had the courage to

keep still, and she had to run the risk, both of being shot, and of

being upset by the coach just as they did."

This also was unanimously approved, and, after doing full justice to

the breakfast set before them, the party again took their places.

Rhoda being carried down asleep, by the landlady, and placed in the

coach, one of the inside passengers getting out to make room for her,

and she was laid, curled up, on the seat, with her head in a lady's

lap, and slept quietly, until, to her astonishment, she was woke up,

and told that she was in Marlborough.

CHAPTER II.

TWO YOUNG PICKLES.

An old-fashioned open carriage, drawn by a stiff, old-fashioned horse,

and driven by a stiff, old-fashioned man, was in waiting at the inn at

which the coach drew up at Marlborough. Into this the young Scudamores

were soon transferred, and, after a hearty good-bye from their

fellow-passengers, and an impressive one from the coachman, they

started upon the concluding part of their journey.

"How far is it to aunt's?" Tom asked.

"About six miles, young sir," the driver said gravely.

The young Scudamores had great difficulty to restrain their laughter

at Tom's new title; in fact, Peter nearly choked himself in his

desperate efforts to do so, and no further questions were asked for

some time.

The ride was a pleasant one, and Rhoda, who had never been out of

Lincolnshire before, was delighted with the beautiful country through

which they were passing. The journey, long as it was--for the road

was a very bad one, and the horse had no idea of going beyond a slow

trot--passed quickly to them all; but they were glad when the driver

pointed to a quaint old-fashioned house standing back from the road,

and said that they were home.

"There are the pigeons, Rhoda, and there is Minnie asleep on that open

window-sill."

Very many times had the young Scudamores talked about their aunt, and

had pictured to themselves what she would be like; and their ideas of

her so nearly approached the truth, that she almost seemed to be an

old acquaintance as she came to the door as the carriage stopped. She

was a tall, upright, elderly lady, with a kind, but very decided face,

and a certain prim look about her manner and dress.

"Well, niece Rhoda and nephews, I am glad to see that you have arrived

safely," she said in a clear, distinct voice. "Welcome to the Yews. I

hope that we shall get on very well together. Joseph, I hope that you

have not driven Daisy too fast, and that you did not allow my nephews

to use the whip. You know I gave you very distinct instructions not to

let them do so."

"No, my lady, they never so much as asked."

"That is right," Miss Scudamore said, turning round and shaking hands

with the boys, who had now got out of the carriage and had helped

Rhoda down. "I am glad to hear what Joseph tells me, for I know that

boys are generally fond of furious driving and like lashing horses

until they put them into a gallop. And now, how are you, niece Rhoda!

Give me a kiss. That is right. You look pale and tired, child; you

must have something to eat, and then go to bed. Girls can't stand

racketing about as boys can. You look quiet and nice, child, and I

have no doubt we shall suit very well. It is very creditable to you

that you have not been spoilt by your brothers. Boys generally make

their sisters almost as noisy and rude as they are themselves."

"I don't think we are noisy and rude, aunt," Tom said, with a smile.

"Oh, you don't, nephew?" Miss Scudamore said, looking at him sharply,

and then shaking her head decidedly two or three times. "If your looks

do not belie you both sadly, you are about as hair-brained a couple of

lads as my worst enemies could wish to see sent to plague me; but,"

she added to herself, as she turned to lead the way indoors, "I must

do my duty, and must make allowances; boys will be boys, boys will be

boys, so they say at least, though why they should be is more than I

can make out. Now, Rhoda, I will take you up with me. Your bedroom

leads out of mine, dear. Hester," she said to a prim-looking servant

who had come out after her to the door; "will you show my nephews to

their room? Dinner will be ready at two; it is just a quarter to the

hour now. I see that you have got watches, so that you will be able

to be punctual; and I must request you, when you have done washing,

not to throw the water out of the window, because my flower-beds are

underneath."

Tom had great difficulty in keeping his countenance, while he assured

his aunt that his brother and himself never did empty their basins out

of the window.

"That is right," Miss Scudamore said doubtfully; "but I have heard

that boys do such things."

Once fairly in their room and the door shut, the boys had a great

laugh over their aunt's ideas as to boys.

"There is one comfort," Tom said at last; "whatever we do we shall

never surprise her."

"I think we shall get on very well with her," Peter said. "She means

to be kind, I am sure. This is a jolly room, Tom."

It was a low wainscoted room, with a very wide window divided into

three by mullions, and fitted with latticed panes. They were open, and

a delicious scent of flowers came in from the garden. The furniture

was all new and very strong, of dark stained wood, which harmonized

well with the paneling. There were no window curtains, but a valance

of white dimity hung above the window. There was a piece of carpet

between the beds; the rest of the floor was bare, but the boards were

of old oak, and looked as well without it. Several rows of pegs had

been put upon the walls, and there was a small chest of drawers by

each bed.

"This is very jolly, Peter; but it is a pity that there are bars to

the window."

When they came down to dinner they found that Rhoda, quite done up

with her journey, had gone to bed.

"You like your room, I hope, nephews," Miss Scudamore said, after they

had taken their seats.

"Yes, aunt, very much. There is only one drawback to it."

"What is that, Thomas?"

"Oh, please, aunt, don't call me Thomas; it is a dreadful name; it is

almost as bad as Tommy. Please call me Tom. I am always called Tom by

every one."

"I am not fond of these nicknames," Miss Scudamore said. "There is a

flippancy about them of which I do not approve."

"Yes, aunt, in nicknames; but Tom is not a nickname; it is only a

short way of speaking. We never hear of a man being called Thomas,

unless he is a footman or an archbishop, or something of that sort."

"What do you mean by archbishop?" Miss Scudamore asked severely.