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promenade. I want to go home."
    "So do I," said Gwen. "What's the time? I mustn't miss the next bus."
    "It's twenty past five."
    "Oh, horrors! And the bus goes at half-past! Can I possibly catch it?"
    "I'll say goodbye if you're going to pelt along the promenade. I hate rushing."
    "Goodbye! And thank you a hundred thousand times!"
    It was only as Gwen was scurrying along the asphalted walk that it struck her that, after all, Netta was getting rather easily out of the scrape. Of course she, Gwen, had knocked over the box of china, but it was Netta who had taken her into Miss Roscoe's room, and who was therefore in a sense responsible for the whole affair. Well, she was glad enough to find help on any terms; she did not know how she was going to repay Netta the money, but that might wait. It was sufficient for the present that the tea set could be replaced without any fear of discovery. She hurried breathlessly on, fearing to miss the omnibus; taking any short cuts she knew, and breaking into a run when she reached the Ditton Road. She could see the omnibus standing at its starting-place, and hoped it might be just possible to arrive in time. As she tore along the footpath, she noticed a boy a few yards in front of her who was running equally quickly, or even faster.
    "I wonder if he's trying to catch it too?" she thought, and envied his longer legs and freedom from hampering skirts. "Oh! it's actually going! What a shame!"
    The boy made a spurt, and shouted and whistled after the retreating omnibus, but it was not of the slightest avail; neither the conductor nor the driver took any notice. Realizing the hopelessness of his efforts, the boy stopped and saw Gwen, who came panting up.
    "No use, it's gone too far!" he exclaimed. "It's an atrocious swindle! Those men never look. I suppose you were trying to catch it too?"
    "Yes. I always go by the 4.20."
    "So do I; so it's a nuisance to miss this. We're out of luck to-day."
    Gwen knew the boy quite well by sight, as for the last few weeks he had been a fellow passenger morning and evening in the omnibus. He was a jolly-looking fellow, about her own age or perhaps a little older, with a brown skin and very twinkling, brown eyes. He wore a grammar-school cap, and carried some books, so she could guess his occupation in Stedburgh.
    "I believe the next goes at half-past six," he remarked ruefully. "But you won't catch me waiting for it I shall walk."
    "So shall I," agreed Gwen. "Walking's better fun any time than standing waiting," and she suited her action to her words. The boy kept by her side, evidently not unpleased to have a companion to talk to.
    "You're one of the Gascoyne girls, aren't you?" he began. "I see the whole lot of you every day cramming into the bus. Aren't you the one they call Gwen?"
    "I believe I am."
    "It's you who's generally left something behind, or lost something, or got yourself into some kind of a pickle; then the one with her hair turned up scolds."
    "That's Winnie," chuckled Gwen.
    "Those two youngsters are cheeky imps. Tell them they'll get their heads smacked some day!"
    "They often do at home."
    "Serve 'em right. I'm glad to hear it. How many more are there of you at home?"
    "Only two."
    "Quite enough, I should think!"
    "Thank you! You've asked all about my family, but you haven't told me who you are."
    "Why, I thought you knew. My name is Dick Chambers. My father is Dr. Chambers, who's just taken Dr. Harrison's practice."
    "At North Ditton?"
    "Yes, we only came six weeks ago. Dr. Harrison has gone to London."
    [Illustration: GWEN MEETS DICK]
    "I knew Dr. Harrison," said Gwen. "He came to see us when we had scarlatina, and gave us some loathly medicine!"
    "Dad can do a little in that line!" laughed Dick. "He once made me drink asafoetida when I was a kid, to cure me of sampling bottles in the surgery."
    "Is it nasty?"
    "It smells like a defunct rat, so you can imagine the taste."
    "Ugh!"
    "He doesn't give such bad things to his patients, though.