By OLIVER K. ROSSE.
It was about half-past six, one brilliant morning in June,
and the boys of Bidford School were dressing themselves,
preparatory to "scudding" for the river, wherein to take their
customary seven-o'clock "dip." Every one was out of bed,
skipping to and fro, as lively as grasshoppers, throwing
wet sponges at one another, and indulging in divers other
jocular vagaries, which sufficiently accounted for the many
strange noises and the repeated loud bursts of laughter that
greeted the listening ear.
The inmates of dormitory number one were the younger
members of the school, and the merriest and most popular of
all were Caggles and Bottlebury.
"I say, Bottlebury," cried Caggles, a youth who had a
deal of confidence in his own powers, "I'll swim you this
morning, and 'lick' you by a dozen yards."
"All right," said Bottlebury; "but you can bet your life
I'll have the laugh on you! I've been putting in a lot of
practise lately."
"That's what you always say, 'Bot,' old bird."
"Well! it's right enough. Whoop! Here's a black beetle
in one of my shoes!"
"Don't kill it! It's mine," cried a lanky youth, dashing
forward.
"Look here, Fuzzy, you beast," said Bottlebury, "you'll
get punched until you're black and blue if you bring such
disgusting creeping reptiles up here."
Fuzzy was an amateur naturalist, and delighted to keep
a stock of living insects about his person, in pill-boxes.
"This fellow got loose," he said, as he fearlessly picked
up the coal-black beetle and popped it into the small cardboard
prison which he had ready.
"I say, 'Cag,'" resumed Bottlebury, "it's our turn to roll
the tennis-ground."
"So it is," said Caggles; "won't it be hot work if the
sun hangs out all day!"
"I should say so!" assented his friend. "I say, though,
you were dreaming like a madman last night."
"Was I?" laughed Caggles; "I'm an awful fellow to
dream. I used to walk in my sleep, but I've got over that.
They say it comes of having an active brain."
"Aye; and they say that kids with active brains like that
generally turn out to be tip-top poets and authors."
"Do they?" said Caggles, suddenly imagining himself a
budding genius.
"Oh," said Bottlebury, with delightfully refreshing candor,
"I don't suppose it means anything in your case, you know."
"Why?" asked the disappointed Caggles, in an injured
tone of voice.
"Well, I don't think you've got enough brains for 'em to
be active. It'll be active nerves in your case. It's just the
same, only it's different; see?"
"Was I talking in my sleep?" asked Caggles, anxious to
change the subject.
"I think so. I just caught something about 'moles,' but
I went to sleep pretty soon after."
"Well, I've been wishing for a mole," said Caggles;
"Tupman says they've got no eyes, and I say they have.
I'm going to hunt for one of the little beggars, just to see
who's right."
At that juncture the door was flung open, and Crieff,
one of the oldest boys in the school, rushed into the dormitory,
red and breathless, and minus his cap.
Now, Crieff was usually a very sedate fellow, and went
about as stately as an Oriental grandee. His neck was
rather long, and at every stride he stiffened his legs and
bulged out his chest, so that he was suggestive, somewhat,
of a dignified stork.
The boys of the dormitory were astonished, therefore,
to see him in so breathless and limp a state.
"What's up?" asked Caggles, with mouth agape.
"The tennis-ground!" gasped Crieff, mopping his face
with a handkerchief.
The tennis-ground at Bidford School was reputed to be
one of the finest in the whole neighborhood. It had been
specially laid, and its smooth surface was as level as a
billiard-table. Every boy was proud of it, and Crieff tended
it with the anxiety of a father.
"What's up with it?" asked two or three voices.
"Spoiled! Ruined!" said Crieff, almost with tears in his
eyes.
"Never!" cried Bottlebury.
"It is. Somebody has dug holes all over it with a spade.
I've just been down and seen it."
"It was all right yesterday afternoon," said Caggles, with
an expression of disgust on his face.
"Some one must have done it in the night," said Crieff;
"I believe it's one of those village kids I thrashed last week
for throwing stones."
"Very likely," said Caggles; "they'll do anything for
spite."
"They used our spade, too," continued Crieff; "the one
out of the shed. The lock of the door has been useless for
some time, you know. They must have gone in and taken
out the spade; I found it lying on the ground."
The inmates of the dormitory stood aghast. A grand
match between themselves and a neighboring school had
been fixed for this coming Saturday. Under the peculiar
circumstances this, of course, would have to be postponed.
Hastily finishing their toilet, the boys accompanied Crieff
to the tennis-ground, where they saw that his account was
only too true. The ground was dug up in a dozen places.
Exclamations of rage rose from the fast-increasing crowd
of boys, and energetic discussions were entered upon, until
quite a confusing uproar prevailed.
"Whoever it was," said Caggles, almost bursting with
wrath, "they ought to be kicked."
"I say, Crieff," said Bottlebury, "do you think they'll
come again?"
"I don't think so," was the answer; "still, they may.
I'm just trying to think of a way to catch the scoundrels."
"Put a lot of rat-traps about," suggested a small boy.
"Man-traps, you mean," said Caggles.
"Yes; that's it—man-traps," said the small boy.
"Where'll you get 'em from?" asked Caggles, as if bent on
calling down derision on the youngster.
"Oh, anywhere—buy 'em," replied the small boy, in a
vague way.
"But where from, you young ass?"
"Where they sell 'em;" and the small boy fled in time to
miss Caggles' foot.
"Well," said Dumford, "if there's a doubt whether they'll
pay us a second visit, it'll be hardly worth while sitting up
all night."
Suddenly Caggles gave a cry of extreme pleasure.
"I know a good plan," he said; "I'll get a ball of strong,
thin twine, fasten one end to the spade in the shed, carry the
ball across the field, and up-stairs to the dormitory, and
then tie the other end to my big toe. If any one walks
off with the spade, the string will pull my toe and waken
me. Then, down-stairs we go, and ask the midnight visitor
if he wants any help."
Crieff laughed.
"It's a good idea," said he, "and there's no harm in trying
it. It may answer and it may not. The schoolhouse
isn't a hundred yards away."
"Very well," said Caggles, with a gleeful chuckle, "I'll
get the twine and try it to-night. Let's roll the ground.
They'll very likely to come again if they see we've patched
it up."
This was done, the twine purchased, and that night Caggles
got into bed with his toe attached to one end of the
string and the spade in the shed tied to the other.
Poor Caggles! He little thought what a laugh there was
to be at his expense.
For a considerable time the inmates of No. 1 dormitory
lay awake in a state of anxious expectation, half-expecting
to see Caggles dragged out of bed and go hopping down
the room, with his big toe nearly pulled out by the roots,
so to speak. But nothing happened, and one by one they
closed their eyes and went to sleep, until all were wrapped
in slumber. Even Caggles—despite the uncomfortable
sensation of the twine round his toe—was not long in succumbing
to drowsiness, for he was very tired, having rolled
the tennis-ground all that afternoon.
Just as the faint sounds of the schoolroom clock striking
one floated up-stairs, Bottlebury woke with a start, having
dreamed that he was falling down a coal-mine. He wiped
the perspiration of fear from his brow, rubbed his eyes,
and sat upright. Then, turning his gaze in the direction
where Caggles always slept, he saw by the light of the
moon, which streamed in at the window, that his chum was
not to be seen.
His bed was empty!
In an instant Bottlebury was on his feet.
"Wake up, you fellows!" he cried, as he dragged his
trousers on. "Wake up! D'you hear?"
Dumford popped up his head and asked what the row was
over.
"Caggles isn't in bed," said Bottlebury excitedly; "he's
felt the string tug, I s'pose, and has hurried off without
us."
In another minute every boy had donned his nether
garments, and then away they went, pell-mell, down the
darkened stairs.
As they rushed outdoors they descried a figure, clad in
naught but a night-shirt, making for the tennis-ground.
"Why, that's Caggles!" said Dumford.
"What on earth has he come out like that for?" queried
Bottlebury; "he'll catch his death of cold."
"Make no row," warned Dumford. "It strikes me there's
something peculiar about this affair. Let's follow him
quietly."
Caggles made straight for the shed, and, opening the door,
disappeared inside.
In a few seconds he reappeared with the spade in his
grasp, and, walking up to the tennis-ground, began to dig.
The onlookers gasped with amazement, and a light
dawned on their minds.
"He's asleep," whispered Dumford; "it was nobody but
he who dug the ground before."
"By Jove!" was all that the astonished Bottlebury could
say—so unlooked-for was the revelation.
Suddenly Caggles was seen to fall to the ground. The
twine had twisted round his legs and thrown him.
Bottlebury was quickly at his side and assisted him to
his feet.
"What's this?" said Caggles, in great bewilderment, the
fall evidently having brought him to his waking senses.
"Come along in," said Bottlebury; "you'll catch rheumatics,
or something."
Caggles looked, in a dazed way, first at the spade and
then at his now grinning companions.
"Did I do it?" he asked.
"I suppose so," replied Bottlebury; "but what in the name
of goodness made you? What were you digging for?"
"Moles," said Caggles, after a slight pause, in which he
shivered with cold; "I—I suppose I must have come out
to look for moles."
And so he had. The assertion made by Tupman that
moles were blind had caused him to long to test the truth
of the statement. He even dreamed of the subject, following
which a somnambulistic desire to dig for moles in the
tennis-ground was born within him.
He never heard the last of the ludicrous adventure, and
Bottlebury had a thorough good laugh at him.
The nocturnal mole-hunter thenceforth slept in a small
room by himself, with the door securely locked and a patent
"catch" on the window, "so that"—as some one facetiously
remarked—"he should not again have necessity to tie spades
to his toes."
