It was Bessy’s little brother who sat by him on the stile; “Beauty Bill,” as he was called, from the large share he possessed of the family good looks.  The lad was one of those people who seem born to be favourites.  He was handsome, and merry, and intelligent; and, being well brought up, was well-conducted and amiable—­the pride and pet of the village.  Why did Mother Muggins of the shop let the goody side of her scales of justice drop the lower by one lollipop for Bill than for any other lad, and exempt him by unwonted smiles from her general anathema on the urchin race?  There were other honest boys in the parish, who paid for their treacle-sticks in sterling copper of the realm!  The very roughs of the village were proud of him, and would have showed their good nature in ways little to his benefit had not his father kept a somewhat severe watch upon his habits and conduct.  Indeed, good parents and a strict home counterbalanced the evils of popularity with Beauty Bill, and, on the whole, he was little spoilt, and well deserved the favour he met with.  It was under cover of friendly patronage that his companion was now detaining him; but, all the circumstances considered, Bill felt more suspicious than gratified, and wished Bully Tom anywhere but where he was.

The man threw out one leg before him like the pendulum of a clock.

“Night school’s opened, eh?” he inquired; and back swung the pendulum against Bill’s shins.

“Yes;” and the boy screwed his legs on one side.

“You don’t go, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” said Bill, trying not to feel ashamed of the fact, “Father can’t spare me to the day-school now, so our Bessy persuaded him to let me go at nights.”

Bully Tom’s face looked a shade darker, and the pendulum took a swing which it was fortunate the lad avoided; but the conversation continued with every appearance of civility.

“You come back by Yew-lane, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“Why, there’s no one lives your way but old Johnson; you must come back alone?”

“Of course, I do,” said Bill, beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable.

“It must be dark now before school looses?” was the next inquiry; and the boy’s discomfort increased, he hardly knew why, as he answered—­

“There’s a moon.”

“So there is,” said Bully Tom, in a tone of polite assent; “and there’s a weathercock on the church-steeple but I never heard of either of ’em coming down to help a body, whatever happened.”

Bill’s discomfort had become alarm.

“Why, what could happen?” he asked.  “I don’t understand you.”

His companion whistled, looked up in the air, and kicked vigorously, but said nothing.  Bill was not extraordinarily brave, but he had a fair amount both of spirit and sense; and having a shrewd suspicion that Bully Tom was trying to frighten him, he almost made up his mind to run off then and there.  Curiosity, however, and a vague alarm which he could not throw off, made him stay for a little more information.