William Spencer stayed away from school that hot day, and "wentswimming". The master wrote a note to William's father, and gave itto William's brother Joe to carry home. "You'll give that to your father to-night, Joseph." "Yes, sir." Bill waited for Joe near the gap, and walked home with him. "I s'pose you've got a note for father." "Yes," said Joe. "I s'pose you know what's in it?" "Ye--yes. Oh, why did you stop away, Bill?" "You don't mean to say that you're dirty mean enough to give itto father? Hey?" "I must, Will. I promised the master." "He needn't never know." "Oh, yes, he will. He's coming over to our place on Saturday,and he's sure to ask me to-morrow." Pause. "Look here, Joe!" said Bill, "I don't want to get a hiding andgo without supper to-night. I promised to go 'possuming with JohnnyNowlett, and he's going to give me a fire out of his gun. You cancome, too. I don't want to cop out on it to-night --if I do I'llrun away from home again, so there." Bill walked on a bit in moody, Joe in troubled, silence. Bill tried again: he threatened, argued, and pleaded, but Joewas firm. "The master trusted me, Will," he said. "Joe," said Bill at last, after a long pause, "I wouldn't do itto you." Joe was troubled. "I wouldn't do it to you, Joe." Joe thought how Bill had stood up and fought for him only lastweek. "I'd tear the note in bits; I'd tell a hundred lies; I'd take adozen hidings first, Joe --I would." Joe was greatly troubled. His chest heaved, and the tears cameto his eyes. "I'd do more than that for you, Joe, and you know it." Joe knew it. They were crossing the old goldfield now. There wasa shaft close to the path; it had fallen in, funnel-shaped, at thetop, but was still thirty or forty feet deep; some old logs werejammed across about five feet down. Joe suddenly snatched the notefrom his pocket and threw it in. It fluttered to the other side andrested on a piece of the old timber. Bill saw it, but said nothing,and, seeing their father coming home from work, they hurriedon. Joe was deep in trouble now. Bill tried to comfort and cheerhim, but it was no use. Bill promised never to run away from homeany more, to go to school every day, and never to fight, or steal,or tell lies. But Joe had betrayed his trust for the first time inhis life, and wouldn't be comforted. Some time in the night Bill woke, and found Joe sitting up inbed crying. "Why, what's the matter, Joe?" "I never done a mean thing like that before," sobbed Joe. "Iwished I'd chucked meself down the shaft instead. The mastertrusted me, Will; an' now, if he asks me to-morrow, I'll have totell a lie." "Then tell the truth, Joe, an' take the hidin'; it'll soon beover --just a couple of cuts with the cane and it'll be allover." "Oh, no, it won't. He won't never trust me any more. I've neverbeen caned in that school yet, Will, and if I am I'll never goagain. Oh! why will you run away from home, Will, and play the wag,and steal, and get us all into such trouble? You don't know howmother takes on about it --you don't know how it hurts father!I've deceived the master, and mother and father to-day, justbecause you're so --so selfish," and he laid down and criedhimself to sleep. Bill lay awake and thought till daylight; then he got upquietly, put on his clothes, and stole away from the house andacross the flat, followed by the dog, who thought it was a'possum-hunting expedition. Bill wished the dog would not be quiteso demonstrative, at least until they got away from the house. Hewent straight to the shaft, let himself down carefully on to one ofthe old logs, and stooped to pick up the note, gleaming white inthe sickly summer daylight. Then the rotten timber gave waysuddenly, without a moment's warning. . . . . . They found him that morning at about nine o'clock. The dogattracted the attention of an old fossicker passing to his work.The letter was gripped in Bill's right hand when they brought himup. They took him home, and the father went for a doctor. Bill cameto himself a little just before the last, and said: "Mother! Iwasn't running away, mother --tell father that --I --I wanted totry and catch a 'possum on the ground. . . . Where's Joe? I wantJoe. Go out, mother, a minute, and send Joe." "Here I am, Bill," said Joe, in a choking, terrified voice. "Has the master been yet?" "No." "Bend down, Joe. I went for the note, and the logs gave way. Imeant to be back before they was up. I dropped it down inside thebed; you watch your chance and get it; and say you forgot it lastnight --say you didn't like to give it --that won't be a lie.Tell the master I'm --I'm sorry --tell the master never to sendno notes no more --except by girls --that's all. . . . Mother!Take the blankets off me --I'm dyin'."