not indulge in daydreams, however, not being of an imaginative disposition. The actual difficulty which he had to master at the time took up all his thoughts and energies, and the distant object to be attained, though never absolutely lost sight of, was never dwelt upon or brooded over.

He at once looked about for someone else to bowl for, and found his particular chum, Penryhn, who, after fagging out through the heat of the day, had gone to the wicket with the sun in his eyes, and been clean bowled the first ball.

“Will you really bowl for me?” he said eagerly in reply to Buller’s offer. “What a good fellow you are!”

“Why? for doing what I want? That is laying in a stock of good works cheap. You won’t mind a few wides, I hope; Robarts says there is too great a sameness about my bowling, so I want to practise twisters and shooters. You won’t mind if I bowl at your legs?”

“Not a bit; ignis via—fire away.”

The necessity for violent exertion had been taken out of Buller, indeed it was now oozing away from every pore of his skin. So he did not try fast bowling, except now and then when he attempted to put in a shooter, but concentrated his attention principally upon placing his ball, or on pitching it to leg with an inward twist towards the wicket. He constantly failed; sent easy ones which were hit about to the peril of neighbouring players; cut Penryhn over once on the knee-cap and once on the ankle. But he never once delivered the ball carelessly, or without a definite object. And when his arm got so tired that his mind could no longer direct it, he left off and Penryhn bowled in turn to him, his great object then being to keep an upright bat rather than to hit.

“I’ll tell you what, Tom, you have improved in your cricket awfully,” said Penryhn as they strolled back in the dusk. “Why, you took Robarts’ wickets twice.”

“Yes, but I should not have done it in a game; fellows step out and hit recklessly in practice.”

“No matter for that; you are quite a different bowler from what you were.”

“The fact is it takes me all my time to learn to do what comes to other fellows naturally.”

“That’s a bit too deep for me; some fellows can do one thing easily and others another, and every fellow has to work hard to learn those things which belong, as it were, to the other fellows. There are chaps, I suppose, like the Admirable Crichton, who are born good all round, and can play the fiddle, polish off Euclid, ride, shoot, lick anyone at any game, all without the slightest trouble, but one does not come across them often, thank goodness. I say, do you know what genius is?”

“Not exactly; that is, I could not define it.”

“Well, I have heard my father say that some very clever chap has said that it is ‘an infinite capacity for taking pains,’ and if that’s true, by Jove, you must be a genius, Tom!”

And they both burst out laughing at the notion, and went in and changed their flannels. And Buller lit his candle and mugged at a German exercise till the supper-bell rang.

Half-holidays did not necessarily preclude work in the tutor’s pupil-rooms, which was preparatory to that in school, though practically the hours of recreation were never interfered with in fine weather. But after the hour of “All In,” as the local phrase went, when the roll was called, and every boy had to be in for the night, an hour which varied with the time of the year, it was different. And on this Saturday evening Mr Cookson had some arrears of Historical Theme correction to make up. For since history plays a considerable part in modern competitive examinations, every boy had to read up a certain portion of some standard work every week, and write a theme upon it, without the book, in the pupil-room. This theme was looked over with him by his tutor before being sent in to the head-master, and if it did not reach a certain standard it was torn up, and he had to read the subject again and write another one. Edwards was one of the essayists whose paper had not yet been examined, and he stood at this tutor’s elbow while he read it over. “‘After he had been some years in England Sir Elijah Impey was tried by Doctors’ Commons.’” “House of Commons, boy,” said Mr Cookson, “people are not impeached at Doctors’ Commons, that’s where wills are proved,” and he made a correction,—“‘and proved he hadn’t murdered the rajah. And so Sir Philip Francis, the author of a book called Junius, the writer of which was never discovered,’”—“why, that’s a bull;” Mr Cookson could not help chuckling as he made a dash and a correction,—“‘and deaf Burke,’”—“‘I never heard that he was deaf—oh, that was another man, a prize-fighter, ho, ho, ho, ahem!’”—“‘and Burke were very much ashamed of themselves, and were hissed, and never alluded to the subject, from which originated the phrase of “burking the question,”’”—“Pooh, pooh, never make shots like that:”—“‘and Sir Elijah Impey was found Not Guilty, and all his property was taken from him to pay the lawyers with.’” “Well, well, it’s not so bad,” said Mr Cookson, signing his name at the bottom of the last page. “And now, Edwards,” he added, turning and looking the boy straight in the eyes, “I have a good mind to have you flogged.”

“Me, sir!” exclaimed Edwards, turning pale; “what for, sir?”

“Doctor Jolliffe does not flog for many things, but there are certain offences he never fails to visit with the utmost severity. Smoking is one of them.”

“I assure you, sir, I have not—”

“Lying is another, so do not finish your sentence. I can smell the stale tobacco.”

And indeed Edwards was wearing the jacket in which he had indulged in that emetical luxury, his first cigar, two evenings previously.

“But really, sir, it is no lie,” he urged; “I have not been smoking, and I cannot tell where the smell comes from, unless it is my jacket, which I wore in the holidays, when I sat in the room with my father when he was having his cigar sometimes, and which has been in my box till the other day. I am certain it cannot be my breath or anything else.”

“Come nearer; no, your breath and hair are free from the taint. Well, it may be as you say, and I am loth to suspect you of falsehood. But listen to me, my boy; I am not assuming that you have been smoking, mind, but only, as we are on the subject, that you might do so. It may seem very arbitrary that the rules against it are so very severe, considering how general the practice is, but they are wise for all that. However harmless it may be for those who have come to their full growth, smoking tobacco is certainly very injurious to lads who are not matured. And indeed until the habit is acquired—it affects the digestion and the memory of every one. Now, in these days of competitive examinations, when every young fellow on entering life has to struggle to get his foot on the first rung of the ladder, and all his future prospects depend on his doing better than others, how inexpressibly silly it is for him to handicap himself needlessly by taking a narcotic which confuses his brain and impairs his memory, and which affords him no pleasure whatever. I treat you as a rational being, and appeal to your common sense, and speak as your friend. Now, go.”

Edwards was not such a ready liar as you may think him, though he certainly prevaricated. He had worn that jacket in his father’s smoking-room, and it had lain in his box during the early part of the term. He had not smoked again since the occasion commemorated, and that was two days previously, and he persuaded himself that his tutor’s question applied to that day. But he knew in his heart that it didn’t, and with the kind tones of his tutor’s voice ringing in his ears