“Of course, if you don’t mind being systematically snubbed at head-quarters—thwarted and slandered by your fellow-masters—baulked in every attempt to improve the condition either of your house or the school—and misrepresented and undermined in your influence among your boys, you may go up and enjoy it. I didn’t. That’s why I left.”

“At any rate, I have one friend among the masters—Grover.”

“Oh, poor Grover. He is the only master who can get on at all, and he does so by effacing himself on every possible occasion, and agreeing with everybody.”

“Not a very noble character to hear of one’s friend,” said Railsford, who was beginning to get tired of this jeremiad.

“I don’t blame him; he can stand more than you or I can.”

“That, I suppose, is meant for a compliment to me?” said Railsford, laughing. “You think, then, I would be wise to back out before it is too late?”

“I don’t say that, only—”

“Only you pity me. Thanks, very much.”

That evening Railsford sent a line to Grover:—

“Tell me in two words why Moss left Grandcourt.”

A telegram came next morning, “Incompatibility of temper.”

Whereat the new master chuckled, and dismissed the lugubrious ex-master and his friendly warnings from his mind. But although the gloomy prognostications of his Job’s comforters failed in the least to depress his spirits, one very small cloud hovered occasionally on the horizon. This was the attitude of his worthy and respected prospective pupil and brother-in-law, Arthur Herapath. That young gentleman, who had been prudently kept in the dark while term lasted, was, as may be imagined, considerably astounded on arriving home to be met with the news that the new master of the Shell at Grandcourt was to be Mark Railsford.

“What a lark!” he exclaimed.

Now, genial as the remark was, the tone in which it was uttered was not calculated to inspire confidence in the breasts of those to whom it was addressed. There was more of enjoyment in it than respect. Yet boys will be boys, and who can gauge the depths of a nature below the smiles that ripple on the surface?

It was little incidents like these which occasionally suggested to Railsford, far more forcibly than the lugubrious warnings of his officious friends, that the task before him at Grandcourt would tax his powers considerably. But, on the whole, he rejoiced that all would not be plain-sailing at first, and that there was no chance of his relapsing immediately into the condition of a humdrum pedagogue.

The Christmas holidays slipped away only too fast for Arthur and for Daisy. Mark, much as he felt the approaching separation from his betrothed, could not suppress a slight feeling of exultation as the day drew near when he was to “go, see, and conquer” at Grandcourt. His three idle years made the prospect of hard work now welcome; and the importance which everyone else attached to his new duties made him doubly keen for a fray on which so many eyes were turned.

Dr Ponsford had suggested, in terms which amounted to a mandate, that the new master might find it convenient to arrive at Grandcourt a day before the school returned, in order to take possession of his quarters and acquaint himself with the details of his coming duties. This arrangement was not altogether satisfactory, for it deprived Mark of the pleasure of his future brother-in-law’s escort, which was a great loss, and also of the prospect of finding Grover at his journey’s end, on which he had reckoned with some confidence. However, it was only the difference of a day, and during that day he would at least do his utmost to make a favourable impression on his chief. So, with a heart full of confidence, and a cab full of luggage, he set out gaily on his new career.

“Good-bye, Mark. You’ll be good to my son, I know,” said Mrs Herapath.

“Good-bye, my boy; take care of your health,” said Mr Herapath.

“Good-bye, Mark,” said Daisy.

“Ta-ta, old man,” called Arthur. “See you to-morrow.”

This last greeting, strange as it may seem, recurred to Railsford’s memory more frequently than any of the others during the course of the long railway journey to Grandcourt. It took all sorts of forms as the day wore on. At first it seemed only a fraternal au revoir, then it became a rather serious promise, and finally sounded in his ears rather like a menace.

Here was he, going down like a prince to his coronation, and his subjects would “see him to-morrow.” It had never occurred to him before that these subjects might have something to say to the ordering of the new kingdom, and that he should have to reckon with them, as well as they with him. The idea was not altogether comfortable, and he tried to shelve it. Of course he would get on with them. They would look up to him, and they would discover that his interests and theirs were the same. He was prepared to go some way to meet them. It would be odd if they would not come the rest to meet him. He turned his mind to other subjects. Still he wished he could be quite sure that Arthur’s innocent “see you again to-morrow” had no double meaning for him.

The railway took him as far as Blankington Junction, about five miles from Grandcourt; and, as it would be some time before a Grandcourt train came up, he decided, after seeing his effects into a cab, to take advantage of the fine, frosty afternoon, and complete his journey on foot. He was, in fact, beginning to grow a little depressed, and the exercise would brace him up. He had, foolishly enough, looked forward to a somewhat different kind of advent, dropping, perhaps, with some little éclat on a school where Arthur had already proclaimed his fame among the boys, and where Grover had prepared him a welcome among the masters. Compared with that, this solitary backstairs arrival seemed tame and dispiriting, and he half regretted that he had not postponed his coming till to-morrow, even in the face of Dr Ponsford’s suggestion.

A mile from Grandcourt he caught sight of the square red ivy-covered brick tower of the school among the trees. Even in winter it looked warm and picturesque. It was growing dark when he passed the lodge, and crossed the playing-field towards the school-house. The cabman was awaiting him in the square.

“Never gave me your name,” explained he, “and nobody knows nothink about you here. Five miles is seven-and-six, and luggage is two bob more, and waiting another ’alf-hour’s a crown,—namely, twelve shillings, and thank you, mister.”

Railsford rang the bell at the porter’s lodge. A small child of eight appeared.

“Where’s your father?” asked the new master.

“Yout,” replied the girl.

“Well, your mother?”

“Please, she’s—she’s in the churchyard along of my Aunt Sally.”

“Well, run and— You mean she’s dea—?”

The child nodded before he had finished his sentence.

“Is there anyone about?” inquired the perplexed new-comer.

“There’s Mrs ’Astings, doing the floors in Bickers’s.”

Mrs Hastings was duly summoned, and arrived with her broom and kneeling-pad.

“My good woman, can you tell me the fare from Blankington here?”

The lady looked perplexed, then embarrassed, then angry.

“And you fetched me over from Bickers’s—me, with my lame foot, over the cobbles—to ask me that! You oughter be ashamed of yerself, young man. Ask the cabman; he knows.”

It was hopeless. Railsford assisted to unload the cab, and meekly gave the cabman the fare demanded.

“I am Mr Railsford, the new master,” said he presently, overtaking Mrs Hastings, as she hobbled back in dudgeon to her work; “which are my rooms?”

“I’m sure I don’t know. You’re a day too early. All the rooms is up, and it will take us all our times to get them done against the school comes back to-morrow.”

“It is an