Two years have elapsed and Mike is home again for the Easter holidays.

　　If Mike had been in time for breakfast that morning he might havegathered from the expression on his father's face, as Mr. Jacksonopened the envelope containing his school report and read thecontents, that the document in question was not exactly a paean ofpraise from beginning to end. But he was late, as usual. Mike alwayswas late for breakfast in the holidays.

　　When he came down on this particular morning, the meal was nearlyover. Mr. Jackson had disappeared, taking his correspondence with him;Mrs. Jackson had gone into the kitchen, and when Mike appeared thething had resolved itself into a mere vulgar brawl between Phyllis andElla for the jam, while Marjory, who had put her hair up a fortnightbefore, looked on in a detached sort of way, as if these juvenilegambols distressed her.

　　"Hullo, Mike," she said, jumping up as he entered; "here you are--I'vebeen keeping everything hot for you.""Have you? Thanks awfully. I say--" his eye wandered in mild surpriseround the table. "I'm a bit late."Marjory was bustling about, fetching and carrying for Mike, as shealways did. She had adopted him at an early age, and did the thingthoroughly. She was fond of her other brothers, especially when theymade centuries in first-class cricket, but Mike was her favourite. Shewould field out in the deep as a natural thing when Mike was battingat the net in the paddock, though for the others, even for Joe, whohad played in all five Test Matches in the previous summer, she woulddo it only as a favour.

　　Phyllis and Ella finished their dispute and went out. Marjory sat onthe table and watched Mike eat.

　　"Your report came this morning, Mike," she said.

　　The kidneys failed to retain Mike's undivided attention. He looked upinterested. "What did it say?""I didn't see--I only caught sight of the Wrykyn crest on theenvelope. Father didn't say anything."Mike seemed concerned. "I say, that looks rather rotten! I wonder ifit was awfully bad. It's the first I've had from Appleby.""It can't be any worse than the horrid ones Mr. Blake used to writewhen you were in his form.""No, that's a comfort," said Mike philosophically. "Think there's anymore tea in that pot?""I call it a shame," said Marjory; "they ought to be jolly glad tohave you at Wrykyn just for cricket, instead of writing beastlyreports that make father angry and don't do any good to anybody.""Last summer he said he'd take me away if I got another one.""He didn't mean it really, I _know_ he didn't! He couldn't!

　　You're the best bat Wrykyn's ever had.""What ho!" interpolated Mike.

　　"You _are_. Everybody says you are. Why, you got your first thevery first term you were there--even Joe didn't do anything nearly sogood as that. Saunders says you're simply bound to play for England inanother year or two.""Saunders is a jolly good chap. He bowled me a half-volley on the offthe first ball I had in a school match. By the way, I wonder if he'sout at the net now. Let's go and see."Saunders was setting up the net when they arrived. Mike put on hispads and went to the wickets, while Marjory and the dogs retired asusual to the far hedge to retrieve.

　　She was kept busy. Saunders was a good sound bowler of the M.C.C.

　　minor match type, and there had been a time when he had worried Mikeconsiderably, but Mike had been in the Wrykyn team for three seasonsnow, and each season he had advanced tremendously in his batting. Hehad filled out in three years. He had always had the style, and now hehad the strength as well. Saunders's bowling on a true wicket seemedsimple to him. It was early in the Easter holidays, but already he wasbeginning to find his form. Saunders, who looked on Mike as his ownspecial invention, was delighted.

　　"If you don't be worried by being too anxious now that you're captain,Master Mike," he said, "you'll make a century every match next term.""I wish I wasn't; it's a beastly responsibility."Henfrey, the Wrykyn cricket captain of the previous season, was notreturning next term, and Mike was to reign in his stead. He liked theprospect, but it certainly carried with it a rather awe-inspiringresponsibility. At night sometimes he would lie awake, appalled by thefear of losing his form, or making a hash of things by choosing thewrong men to play for the school and leaving the right men out. It isno light thing to captain a public school at cricket.

　　As he was walking towards the house, Phyllis met him. "Oh, I've beenhunting for you, Mike; father wants you.""What for?""I don't know.""Where?""He's in the study. He seems--" added Phyllis, throwing in theinformation by way of a make-weight, "in a beastly wax."Mike's jaw fell slightly. "I hope the dickens it's nothing to do withthat bally report," was his muttered exclamation.

　　Mike's dealings with his father were as a rule of a most pleasantnature. Mr. Jackson was an understanding sort of man, who treated hissons as companions. From time to time, however, breezes were apt toruffle the placid sea of good-fellowship. Mike's end-of-term reportwas an unfailing wind-raiser; indeed, on the arrival of Mr. Blake'ssarcastic _résumé_............