resumed.

“What school were you at before?”

“I wasn’t at any—I had lessons at home.”

“A tutor?”

The boy blushed very much, and looked appealingly at Dick, as though to beg him to receive the disclosure he was about to make kindly.

“No—my mother taught me.”

Dick did receive it kindly. That is, he didn’t laugh. He felt sorry for the boy and what was in store for him when the news got abroad. He also felt much less reserved in continuing the conversation.

“Heathcote here and I were at Mountjoy; so we’re pretty well used to kicking about,” said he, patronisingly. “I suppose you didn’t go in for the entrance exam, then?”

“Yes, I did,” said the boy.

“Poor chap,” thought Dick, “fancy a fellow who’s never left his mammy’s apron-strings going in for an exam. How did you get on?” he added, turning to his companion.

“Pretty well, I think,” said the boy shyly.

“I was twenty-first out of thirty-six,” said Dick, “and Heathcote here was fifteenth—where were you?”

Again the boy made a mute appeal for toleration, as he replied, “I was first.”

Dick put down his cup, and stared at him.

“Go on!” said he.

“It was down on the list so,” said the boy with an apologetic air. “They sent one with the names printed.”

Dick made a desperate onslaught on the bread-and-butter, regarding his neighbour out of the corners of his eyes from time to time, quite at a loss to make him out.

“How old are you?” he demanded presently.

“Thirteen.”

“What’s your name?”

“Bertie Aspinall.”

“Whose house are you going to live in?”

“Mr Westover’s.”

“Oh!” said Dick, abruptly ending the conversation, and turning round towards Heathcote.

In due time the meal was over, and the boys were told they could do as they liked for the next hour, until the matron was at leisure to show them their quarters.

So for another hour the promenade in the Quadrangle was resumed. Not so dismally, however, as before. The tea had broken the ice wonderfully, and instead of the studied avoidance of the afternoon, one group and another fell now to comparing notes, and rehearsing the legends they had heard of Templeton and its inmates. And gradually a fellow-feeling made every one wondrous kind, and the little army of twenty in the prospect of to-morrow’s battles, drew together in bonds of self-defence, and felt all very like brothers.

Aspinall, however, who knew no one, and had not dared to join himself to any of the groups, paced in solitude at a distance, hoping for nothing better than that he might escape notice and be left to himself. But Dick, whose interest in him had become very decided, found him out before long and, much to his terror, insisted in introducing him to Heathcote and attaching him to their party.

“There’s nothing to be in a funk about, young ’un,” said he. “I know I don’t mean to funk it, whatever they do to me.”

“I’ll back you up, old man, all I can,” said Heathcote.

“I expect it’s far the best way not to kick out, but just go through with it,” said Dick. “That’s what my father says, and he had a pretty rough time of it, he said, at first.”

“Oh, yes; I’m sure it’s all the worse for a fellow if he funks or gets out of temper.”

All this was very alarming talk for the timorous small boy to overhear, and he longed, a hundred times, to be safe back in Devonshire.

“I’m afraid,” he faltered. “I know—I shall be a coward.”

“Don’t be a young ass,” said Dick. “Heathcote and I will back you up all we can, won’t we, Georgie?”

“Rather,” said Heathcote.

“If you do, it won’t be half so bad,” said the boy, brightening up a bit; “it’s dreadful to be a coward.”

“Well, why are you one?” said Dick. “No one’s obliged to be one.”

“I suppose I can’t help it. I try hard.”

“There goes the bell. I suppose that’s for us to go in,” said Dick, as the summons once more sounded.

They found the matron with a list in her hand, which she proceeded to call over, bidding each boy answer to his name. The first twelve were the new boys of Westover’s house, and they included our two heroes and Aspinall, who were forthwith marched, together with their night apparel, across the court to their new quarters.

Here they were received by another matron, who presided over the wardrobes of the youth of Westover’s, and by her they were escorted to one of the dormitories, where, for that night at any rate, they were to be permitted to sleep in the comfort of one another’s society.

“New boys are to call on the Doctor after breakfast in the morning,” announced she. “Breakfast at eight, and no morning chapel. Good-night!”

It was not long before the dormitory was silent. One by one, the tired boys dropped off, most of them with heavy hearts as they thought of the morrow.

Among the last was Dick, who, as he lay awake and went over, in his mind, the experiences of the day, was startled by what sounded very like a sob in the bed next to his.

He had half a mind to get up and go and say something to the dismal little Devonshire boy.

But on second thoughts he thought the kindest thing would be to let the poor fellow have his cry out, so he turned over and tried not to hear it; and while trying he fell asleep.