pure-hearted, happy boy, who, as his early years speed by, is ever growing in wisdom and stature, and favour with God and man.

“Did that brute Barker ever bully you as he bullies me?” said Eric one day, as he walked on the sea-shore with his friend.

“Yes,” said Russell. “I slept in his dormitory when I first came, and he has often made me so wretched that I have flung myself on my knees at night in pretence of prayer, but really to get a little quiet time to cry like a child.”

“And when was it he left off at last?”

“Why, you know, Upton in the fifth is my cousin, and very fond of me; he heard of it, though I didn’t say anything about it, and told Barker that if ever he caught him at it, he would thrash him within an inch of his life; and that frightened him for one thing. Besides, Duncan, Montagu, and other friends of mine, began to cut him in consequence, so he thought it best to leave off.”

“How is it, Russell, that fellows stand by and let him do it?”

“You see,” said Russell, “Barker is an enormously strong fellow, and that makes the younger chaps, whom he fags, look up to him as a great hero. And there isn’t one in our part of the school who can thrash him. Besides, people never do interfere, you know—at least not often. I remember once seeing a street-row in London, at which twenty people stood by, and let a drunken beast of a husband strike his wife without ever stirring to defend her.”

“Well,” sighed Eric, “I hope my day of deliverance will come soon, for I can’t stand it much longer, and ‘tell’ I won’t, whatever Owen may do.”

Eric’s deliverance came very soon. It was afternoon; the boys were playing at different games in the green playground, and he was waiting for his turn at rounders. At this moment Barker lounged up, and calmly snatching off Eric’s cap, shied it over Dr Rowlands’s garden-wall. “There, go and fetch that.”

“You blackguard,” said Eric, standing irresolutely for a few minutes; and then with tears in his eyes began to climb the wall. It was not very high, but boys were peremptorily forbidden to get over it under any circumstances, and Eric broke the rule not without trepidation. However, he dropped down on one of Mrs Rowlands’s flower-beds, got his cap in a hurry, and clambered back undiscovered.

He thought this would have satisfied his tormentor for one day; but Barker was in a mischievous mood, so he again came up to Eric, and calling out, “Who’ll have a game at football?” again snatched the cap, and gave it a kick; Eric tried to recover it, but every time he came up Barker gave it a fresh kick, and finally kicked it into a puddle.

Eric stood still, trembling with rage, while his eyes lightened scorn and indignation. “You hulking, stupid, cowardly bully,”—here Barker seized him, and every word brought a tremendous blow on the head; but blind with passion Eric went on—“you despicable bully, I won’t touch that cap again; you shall pick it up yourself. Duncan, Russell, here! do help me against this intolerable brute.”

Several boys ran up, but they were all weaker than Barker, who besides was now in a towering fury, and kicked Eric unmercifully.

“Leave him alone,” shouted Duncan, seizing Barker’s arm; “what a confounded bully you are—always plaguing some one.”

“I shall do as I like; mind your own business,” growled Barker, roughly shaking himself free from Duncan’s hand.

“Barker, I’ll never speak to you again from this day,” said Montagu, turning on his heel, with a look of withering contempt.

“What do I care? puppy, you want taking down too,” was the reply, and some more kicks at Eric followed.

“Barker, I won’t stand this any longer,” said Russell, “so look out,” and grasping Barker by the collar, he dealt him a swinging blow on the face.

The bully stood in amazement, and dropped Eric, who fell on the turf nearly fainting, and bleeding at the nose. But now Russell’s turn came, and in a moment Barker, who was twice his weight, had tripped him up,—when he found himself collared in an iron grasp.

There had been an unobserved spectator of the whole scene, in the person of Mr Williams himself, and it was his strong hand that now gripped Barker’s shoulder. He was greatly respected by the boys, who all knew his tall handsome figure by sight, and he frequently stood a quiet and pleased observer of their games. The boys in the playground came crowding round, and Barker in vain struggled to escape. Mr Williams held him firmly, and said in a calm voice, “I have just seen you treat one of your school-fellows with the grossest violence. It makes me blush for you, Roslyn boys,” he continued, turning to the group that surrounded him, “that you can even for a moment stand by unmoved, and see such things done. You know that you despise any one who tells a master, yet you allow this bullying to go on, and that, too, without any provocation. Now, mark; it makes no difference that the boy who has been hurt is my own son; I would have punished this scoundrel whoever it had been, and I shall punish him now.” With these words, he lifted the riding-whip which he happened to be carrying, and gave Barker by far the severest castigation he had ever undergone; the boys declared that Mr Rowlands’s “swishings” were nothing to it. Mr Williams saw that the offender was a tough subject, and determined that he should not soon forget the punishment he then received. He had never heard from Eric how this boy had been treating him, but he had heard it from Russell, and now he had seen one of the worst specimens of it with his own eyes.

He therefore belaboured him till his sullen obstinacy gave way to a roar for mercy, and promises never so to offend again.

At this crisis he flung the boy from him with a “phew” of disgust, and said, “I give nothing for your word; but if ever you do bully in this way again, and I see or hear of it, your present punishment shall be a trifle to what I shall then administer. At present, thank me for not informing your master.” So saying, he made Barker pick up the cap, and, turning away, walked home with Eric leaning on his arm.

Barker, too, carried himself off with the best grace he could; but it certainly didn’t mend matters when he heard numbers of fellows, even little boys, say openly, “I’m so glad; serves you right.”

From that day Eric was never troubled with personal violence from Barker or any other boy. But rancour smouldered deep in the mind of the baffled tyrant, and, as we shall see hereafter, there are subtler means of making an enemy wretched than striking or kicking him.