Tom wouldn’t be pleased, and only looked out for something to find fault with.

“Why, young un,” said he, “what have you been after?  You don’t mean to say you’ve been wading?”

The tone of reproach made poor little Arthur shrink up in a moment and look piteous; and Tom with a shrug of his shoulders turned his anger on Martin.

“Well, I didn’t think, Madman, that you’d have been such a muff as to let him be getting wet through at this time of day.  You might have done the wading yourself.”

“So I did, of course; only he would come in too, to see the nest.  We left six eggs in.  They’ll be hatched in a day or two.”

“Hang the eggs!” said Tom; “a fellow can’t turn his back for a moment but all his work’s undone.  He’ll be laid up for a week for this precious lark, I’ll be bound.”

“Indeed, Tom, now,” pleaded Arthur, “my feet ain’t wet, for Martin made me take off my shoes and stockings and trousers.”

“But they are wet, and dirty too; can’t I see?” answered Tom; “and you’ll be called up and floored when the master sees what a state you’re in.  You haven’t looked at second lesson, you know.”

O Tom, you old humbug! you to be upbraiding any one with not learning their lessons!  If you hadn’t been floored yourself now at first lesson, do you mean to say you wouldn’t have been with them?  And you’ve taken away all poor little Arthur’s joy and pride in his first birds’ eggs, and he goes and puts them down in the study, and takes down his books with a sigh, thinking he has done something horribly wrong, whereas he has learnt on in advance much more than will be done at second lesson.

But the old Madman hasn’t, and gets called up, and makes some frightful shots, losing about ten places, and all but getting floored.  This somewhat appeases Tom’s wrath, and by the end of the lesson he has regained his temper.  And afterwards in their study he begins to get right again, as he watches Arthur’s intense joy at seeing Martin blowing the eggs and gluing them carefully on to bits of cardboard, and notes the anxious, loving looks which the little fellow casts sidelong at him.  And then he thinks, “What an ill-tempered beast I am!  Here’s just what I was wishing for last night come about, and I’m spoiling it all,” and in another five minutes has swallowed the last mouthful of his bile, and is repaid by seeing his little sensitive plant expand again and sun itself in his smiles.

After dinner the Madman is busy with the preparations for their expedition, fitting new straps on to his climbing-irons, filling large pill-boxes with cotton-wool, and sharpening East’s small axe.  They carry all their munitions into calling-overs and directly afterwards, having dodged such prepostors as are on the lookout for fags at cricket, the four set off at a smart trot down the Lawford footpath, straight for Caldecott’s Spinney and the hawk’s nest.