Chapter Eleven.

Chapter Eleven.Digby’s New School—How he was received there—He learns the Inconvenience of Want of Discipline—His Companions and their Characters—Advantage of a Bold Front in a Good Cause.“Is this Grangewood House, John?” asked Digby, as he looked out of the window of the fly which had brought them from the railway station, and which was now stopping at a large white gate, which John Pratt had got off the box to open.“Yes, sir; this be Mr Sanford’s academy for young gentlemen. There’s a great many on ’em comes backwards and forwards by me at times,” answered the driver, instead of John, who did not hear the question.It was a substantial, large, red-brick house, completely in the country, with a circular drive up to it, and a meadowish piece of lawn, with some fine elms, in front. The place was not picturesque, but well suited for the requirements of a school. There were wide-spreading wings on either side, with a walled enclosure on the right, from which proceeded the sound of many young voices, shouting, bawling, and laughing, showing Digby that it was the playground. He altogether liked the look of things outside.The fly stopped in front of the house; a flight of stone steps led up to the chief door. John descended, and rang the bell, and, while it was being answered, busied himself in taking his young master’s things out of the fly.“Is this Mr Sanford’s school, young woman?” he asked of the maid-servant, who opened the door.“It is, young man, and my name is Susan,” was the quick reply; some people might have called it pert.“Then, Susan, do you just tell your master that young Master Digby Heathcote, the eldest son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme, has come,” answered John, letting down the steps, and handing Digby out with an air of the greatest respect. He unintentionally spoke, too, in a tone which sounded not a little pompous.Several boys, who had been passing through the hall at the time, and, of course, followed Susan to the door, to have a look at the new comer, overheard the announcement. A loud shout of laughter from many voices followed, in a variety of tones, as they retreated down a passage. Digby heard them repeating one to the other “Young Master Digby Heathcote, the eldest son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme, has come. Ho, ho! young Master Digby, what an important person you are—ha! ha! ha!—we don’t think.” Great emphasis was laid on the words young master, and eldest son. Digby knew quite enough of boys to wish heartily that poor John had held his tongue.“You’ll go round to the back door; or are you going away in the fly?” said the maid-servant, addressing John, with rather a scornful glance.“Neither one nor t’other, Mistress Susan,” answered John. “I’m going to stay with Master Digby for the present.”“You can’t do that; Master Digby has to go at once to Mr Sanford,” replied Susan.“That’s where I’m going to, young woman, let me tell you,” exclaimed John, bristling up. “He has been spirited away once, and we had a hard job to get him back; and I’m not going to lose sight of him till I see him safe in Mr Sanford’s hands, who must be answerable for him whenever he is sent for. A pretty thing to leave him with such as you, indeed, who might go and declare that you never got him. No, Master Digby, dear—that’s what I’m going to do, I know my duty, and I’m going to do it.”The last remark was made to Digby, who was expostulating, by signs, with John, fearing that he would offend Susan. The damsel, however, seemed not to care a bit for what John said; and would have shut the hall-door in his face, but he would not let go of Digby’s hand.“Well, I don’t know what master will say to you,” exclaimed Susan, as John entered the hall, evidently resolved not to lose sight of Digby, or his boxes, till he had delivered them into what he considered proper custody. Susan, meantime, disappeared at a door on one side of the hall. She soon returned.“You are to go in there,” she said, addressing Digby. “Not you,” she said, looking at John.“There are just two opinions about that,” answered John, coolly opening the door, and walking with Digby into a handsome library.A tall, delicate-looking man, was reclining in his dressing-gown on a sofa, with a book in his hand. He looked up with an expression of surprise on his countenance on seeing John; and then glanced at Digby, but did not rise.“Bee’s you Mr Sanford, sir?” asked John, pulling the lock of his hair he usually employed for that purpose.“Yes, I am, and the head of this school; and who are you?” said the gentleman, but not at all in an angry tone.“I’m Squire Heathcote’s man, of Bloxholme, and this is his son, Master Digby Heathcote; and I’m to deliver him safe and sound into your hands, to keep him carefully till he is sent for home, or till you send him back,” answered John, firmly. “I suppose it’s all right, sir?”“I will give you an acknowledgment in writing that I have him all safe,” said Mr Sanford, much amused at John’s mode of proceeding. “Go into the kitchen, and get something to eat and drink after your journey.”“No, thank you, sir; I’d rather have the writing. I’m not hungry. We had something, Master Digby and I, as we came along; and I have to go back to the station with the fly.”“Very well; push that table with the desk on it near me. I will give you what you require.”John did as he was desired; and Mr Sanford wrote a short note, which he gave him.John forthwith handed it to Digby. “I suppose it’s all right, Master Digby, dear,” he whispered. “I bean’t no great scholard, sir, and so I just wanted the young master to see that the lines was all right and proper. No offence to you, sir, you know,” he added, turning to Mr Sanford.The schoolmaster was highly amused; but Digby was afraid that John had gone too far.“It’s all right, John,” he exclaimed, taking his hand affectionately. “Good by, good by. My love to papa and mamma, and Kate and Gusty, and all; and don’t forget to look after Sweetlips, and tell Kate to write to me about him; but she’ll do that, I’m sure. You must go, John, I know you must.” Digby felt more inclined to cry than he had done before. John was the last link which united him with all the home associations he was conjuring up. John warmly returned Digby’s grasp. He went to the door, and opened it. He turned round once more with his hand on the lock.“You has him in charge, sir,” he said, looking sternly at Mr Sanford. “Oh, take care of him, sir; he’s very precious down at Bloxholme there.”John, afraid of trusting himself, bolted out of the door.Digby overheard some words between John and Susan outside; they ended in a laugh, just before the fly drove off, so he had no doubt they had become good friends; and he afterwards had reason to believe that John had bestowed half a sovereign on her from his own pocket, to secure her good services for the young master.“Sit down, young gentleman,” said Mr Sanford, in his usual languid tone, when John had taken his departure. “I am glad to have you as a pupil, for I find that you are a nephew of my old friend, Nugent, for whom I have a great regard. I dare say he has done you justice. What books have you read?—Latin and Greek, I mean?”Digby told him; he had very little Greek to boast of, however.“I thought that you were more forward,” observed Mr Sanford. “You will be placed under the third master, Mr Tugman, in his upper class, I hope. I must leave him to settle that. I will send for him, and he will take you round the school before tea-time, and introduce you to some of the boys. He may not be quite ready yet, so I will let Mrs Pike, the housekeeper, show you your dormitory, and have your things put away.”Mr Sanford was taking unusual trouble about Digby. He rang the bell, and the usher and housekeeper were sent for. Mrs Pike appeared first; Old Jack, the boys called her. She had a stern, relentless expression of countenance, Digby thought. Her dress was black, with a plain white cap, and a large serviceable apron. There was business in her.“Come along, young gentleman,” she said, taking Digby by the arm, when she had received the master’s directions. “It will be time for tea soon, and I shall have to go and look after it.”She first showed Digby a large room fitted all round with lockers, or drawers, and numbers on each. Into this his things had been wheeled on a truck.“Here is your drawer, Master Heathcote,” she observed. “You will remember the number—sixty-five. We had a hundred and thirty not long ago. Here you will keep your clothes; your play-box you can have with you in the play-room to-morrow; it can stay here till then. Now, come along to your dormitory. Susan will unpack your trunk; and if there is anything in it you want, you can have it when you come back.”All this sounded very well. There were a dozen rooms on the first and second floors appropriated as bedrooms; some had eight or ten beds in them, others only three or four. Digby was shown a room looking out at the back of the house, with eight beds, in one of which Mrs Pike told him he was to sleep. There were wash-hand basins and tubs, and a drawer for each boy to hold his dressing things. All looked very neat and well-arranged. Mrs Pike prided herself on having her department in good order. She looked as if she could have said, “Better washed and fed than taught at this establishment.”Digby returned well satisfied to the study, where Mr Sanford was still reading his book. He looked up, and was putting a question, in a kind tone of voice, to Digby, when the door opened. Digby looked up. A broad-shouldered, pock-marked man, with sandy hair and small grey eyes, entered. His costume, which consisted of a green coat, with a reddish handkerchief, a many-coloured waistcoat, and large plaid trousers, did not improve his appearance. He threw himself into a chair, if not with grace, at all events with ease, and observed, in an off-hand way, that it was a chilly day—a fact about which Mr Sanford did not seem inclined to dispute. He looked at Digby with no pleasant expression, and Digby looked at him, and hoped that he was not the usher under whom he was to be placed.All doubt, however, about the matter was quickly removed by Mr Sanford saying—“I have sent for you, Mr Tugman, to beg that you will take charge of this new boy, Digby Heathcote. Examine him to-morrow, and place him as you judge best. I hope that he will be in the highest of your classes, as he has been lately under a clever man, an old college friend of mine, his uncle, for whom I have a great regard.”The usher was listening, with a look of impatience, to all this.“Oh, I know; he’s the son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme,” he observed, with a laugh, which Digby understood, for he spoke exactly with the expression of the boys who had heard him announced.“I will take him with me, and introduce the young gentleman to his future playmates. I hope that he may get on well with them.”“Do, Mr Tugman, do,” said Mr Sanford, languidly. “I wish that my health would allow me to afford greater support to my assistants, efficient as I am bound to say that they all are.”Mr Tugman did not seem to listen to the compliment, but, with a slight good evening, taking Digby by the shoulder, walked him off to the schoolroom.Digby felt somewhat like a fly in the grasp of a spider, for there was very little of thesuaviter in modo, however much there might have been of thefortiter in re, in Mr Tugman’s proceedings. They passed a large glass door, guarded on both sides by wire-work.“These are your future companions,” he said, opening it, and pointing to a wide-extending gravel space at the back of the house, which Digby guessed was the playground. Though it was growing dark, the boys were still there; but all he could see was a confused mass of fellows rushing about, hallooing, and shouting: some with hoops, against which their sticks went clattering away incessantly; others driving, with whips cracking and horns tootooing; some were running races; others playing leap-frog, or high cock-o’-lorum; indeed, nearly every game which could make the blood circulate on a cold winter’s evening, had its advocates. From the darkness, and from the state of constant movement in which they all were, there appeared to be double the number of boys Mrs Pike had mentioned.“Well, what do you think of them?” asked Mr Tugman.Digby said, “That he could form no opinion from the slight view he had of them.”“Not badly answered,” observed Mr Tugman. “Now I will show you the schoolroom before they come in, and select a desk, so that you may make yourself at home at once.”Going down a few steps, Digby found himself in a large and lofty room, or hall, lighted by lamps from the ceiling, with rows of desks across it, and two large fire-places at the sides towards each end. At one end was a high desk, and there were five or six smaller desks, intended for the masters, down the hall, flanking the rows, as the sergeants stand in a regiment, drawn up on parade. The hall ran at right angles to the back of the house, by the side of the playground, and had evidently been built for a schoolroom.Mr Tugman took Digby to the further end, where his own desk was, and lifting up several in one of the last rows, he came to one which was entirely empty.“Seventy is the number, is it not?” he asked, going to his own desk. “Now, take this key, lock up whatever you like. I dare say you have some good things in your play-box, or valuables of some sort; put them there, and make yourself at home.”Scarcely had these arrangements been concluded, when a bell rang, and the boys came trooping into the schoolroom. He was fairly caught, like a mouse in a trap. At first he was not perceived; but it was soon buzzed about, that the new boy was there, and he was quickly saluted by—“How do you do, Master Digby Heathcote, son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme Hall?”“Pretty well, I thank you, young gentlemen,” answered Digby, determined not to be outdone, and resolved to put a bold face on the matter. “I shall be happy to make the acquaintance of any of those who will favour me with their cards, and an account of their own family, parentage, and connexions.”“He is a pert little chap,” observed one. “Plenty of impudence in him,” said another. “A plucky little cock, though, I think,” remarked a fourth. Opinions among the bigger fellows varied considerably as to his character, and how he was to be treated.Seldom is there a school without a bully, and Grangewood was no exception to the rule. The chief bully was a big, hulking fellow, called Scarborough. He remarked, “That there was a great deal to be taken out of the little cock, and that he purposed having the satisfaction of taking it.”“I’m in the habit of giving small change, remember that,” said Digby, who had overheard the remark—as it had been intended he should.Scarborough turned white with rage on this being said; and would then and there have inflicted condign punishment on the daring upstart, had not the bell rang, and the boys been called to order by Mr Yates, the head usher, who, entering Mr Sanford’s desk, assumed command in the evening. He only deferred doing so, however, till another opportunity.The little fellows, and those about Digby’s own age, listened with eager and surprised ears to what he said; and at once looked upon him as one likely to prove their champion. In a very short time he had made a number both of friends and foes; but, curiously enough, he knew none of them by sight, as he could only distinguish the countenances of the few who sat immediately about him. They being mostly about his age, and having suffered from the tyranny of Scarborough, were inclined to side with him.As, of course, he had nothing to do, he was able to sit quiet, and observe what was going forward. Each of the masters called up a class to say lessons, while the rest of the boys had to prepare them for the following day. Books were got out, and a murmur of voices was heard through the school. A stranger coming in might have fancied that everybody was very studiously employed; but although all had piles of books before them, on a closer inspection he would have seen, as Digby did, that very few were really learning their lessons; some were drawing, others playing games, draughts, or spillikins, or dominoes, and some even had cards; many were cutting out things in card-board or wood, making models of carriages, and houses, and boats. It had become the practice of the school at that time of the evening, especially as they would have another half hour in the morning to look over the lessons they were then supposed to be learning. Digby was surprised, and thought that he had come to a very slack sort of school. He was not particularly shocked, for he could not fancy that what everybody was doing was so very wrong.The classes had just been dismissed, when another bell rang, and everybody hurried away out of the schoolroom. Digby, not knowing what was to take place, sat still.“Come with me,” said a boy, who looked rather smaller than himself. “I am delighted with the way you answered that big bully, Scarborough. Keep up to it; don’t give in, and I will stick by you. We are now going into tea. I will find a place for you near myself, and tell you all about the fellows.”Digby was very glad to fall in at once with a friend; and he at once accepted the little boy’s offer.“My name is Paul Newland,” said his new companion, as they followed the rest into the tea-room. “I am rather older than I look, for I am not very big; but I intend to grow some day. You will be in my class, I suspect. I’m at the top of it, and expect to get into the sixth soon; that is, under Mr Moore, who is a very quiet sort of fellow. You must try and work up along with me. There is nothing like working, I find. I came in at the lowest, and got up three classes in one half year. But this is the tea-room. Come along; don’t mind what fellows say.”This was not an unnecessary caution, for Digby found himself saluted as he went along by the boys turning sharply round and saying—“How do you do, Master Digby Heathcote, son and heir of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme Hall? Welcome to Grangewood House, most noble young Squire.”It need not be said how Digby felt, but he fortunately kept his temper; nor did he lose his appetite in consequence of these sarcastic greetings.“I wish that John Pratt had not announced me in that way. Of course it would make a capital joke for the fellows,” he said to himself, as he took his seat at the table.The boys near nodded to him, holding up their mugs of tea with mock gravity.“Your health, Master Digby Heathcote, son and heir of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme Hall,” was repeated over and over again, in various tones.Digby was determined not to be put out, whatever was said or done. He lifted his mug to his lips—it was filled with a liquid he thought most execrable—some one had evidently put salt in it; but he pretended not to have discovered the bad taste.“Young gentlemen,” he said, holding up his mug, and mimicking the tones of those who had spoken to him, “I beg to return you my thanks for the honour you have done me. When I know your names and places of abode, as well as you appear to know mine, I can address you more personally. As neither tea nor salt-water are the proper things to drink to the health of one’s friends, I will make a libation with the contents of my mug into the slop-basin, which you will receive as a mark of the honour I wish to do you.”Digby was sorely puzzled to pump up all these words. He had never made so long a speech in his life before; but the importance of the object inspired him; and a large slop-basin standing before him to receive the dregs of the mugs, put the idea into his head. He had been afraid at first that he should have been obliged to drink the salted tea.His young friend, Paul Newland, inquired why the boys addressed him as they had been doing; and he then explained that it was owing to John Pratt’s desire to give him importance; instead of which, as is often the case, a contrary effect had been produced.“I need not tell you not to mind, for I see you don’t,” observed Paul. “Everybody has to go through something of the sort when they first come, and some remain butts all the time they stay. That sort of thing matters very little if a fellow keeps his temper, and pretends not to notice it. They soon grow tired of a joke when it produces no effect. They bothered me a great deal when I first came, and called me Paul Pry, and Paul the Preacher, and Little Bank Note, and Pretty Poll, and Polly, and all sorts of names, and they played all sorts of tricks; but I pretended not to mind, though I was really very much annoyed; and, at last, they gave it up, and it is only occasionally that I now get addressed in that way.”Digby thanked Newland for his good advice, and promised to follow it as far as his temper would allow.“Oh, that is the very thing; you must keep in your temper,” answered Newland. “I don’t mean to say that you may harbour revenge, or that you intend to pay them off another day. Far from that; that would be horrid, you know, not like a Christian or an honest Englishman; but that you may disarm them, make them ashamed of themselves, or tired of their stale tricks or jokes.”Paul went on talking in a quiet, low tone, while Digby was munching a thick slice of bread-and-butter. He sent up his cup for some more tea by one of the attendant maid-servants; but was told by Mrs Pike, who had seen him throw the first away, that he could have no more.“But some salt had got into the mug, marm; and salt with tea is not pleasant, I assure you,” exclaimed Digby, feeling very indignant, notwithstanding Newland’s exhortations and his own resolutions.“We only use sugar at Grangewood House, young gentleman,” answered Mrs Pike, looking angrily at the bold assertion of the new boy. “Those who throw their tea away can have no more. That is the rule here; is it not, Mr Tugman?”The third master, thus appealed to, replied, with what he intended to be a bland smile, though it had very much the look of a grin—“Certainly, marm, certainly. Master Digby Heathcote, of Bloxholme, has been brought up with rather extravagant notions, and has been accustomed to take salt as well as sugar in his tea.”This sally produced a grin from the surrounding boys who heard it; for the big fellows considered him a great wit, and a jolly cock, a character he had striven to obtain from some, that he might the more easily manage, or rather bully, the rest.“Never mind,” whispered Paul; “wait a moment till no one is looking, and take mine. I’ll get some more presently, if I want it. Mrs Pike likes me, as I never bother her. She’ll like you some day, if you are quiet and well-behaved. She’s not ill-natured at bottom, but her temper gets put out very often. She almost manages the school now, since Mr Sanford has been ill.”Digby accepted the offer; and Newland soon afterwards got a fresh and ample supply for himself. Perhaps Mrs Pike winked at the arrangement, after she had duly asserted her authority.Digby had been accustomed to very different tea arrangements, and did not admire those he now saw. The tea was made in great urns, and there were huge jugs of milk, or, as the boys declared, of milk-and-water, and basins of brown sugar. The mixture was served out in blue and white mugs, which did duty as beer mugs at dinner; while trays, with slices of bread-and-butter, were continually being handed round. Of the latter, the boys might have as much as they wanted; and their tastes were so far consulted, that they might have milk-and-water without tea and sugar, if they wished for it. They sat at table chattering away, or playing tricks with each other, or reading, if they liked, provided the books were not on the table, till the bell again rang, and they hurried back into the schoolroom.Other classes were now called up, and more lessons were supposed to be learned; but nothing was very strictly attended to at that time in the evening. In summer, they would have been out in the playground. The boys in those classes which had said their lessons were allowed to amuse themselves as they liked at their desks, either in reading, or writing, or making some of the nine hundred and ninety-nine curious articles which boys are wont to manufacture.As Digby had nothing to do, Newland lent him an interesting book—“The Swiss Family of Robinson”—which he had never seen. He was soon absorbed in it, and not at all inclined to be interrupted. The shipwreck he had suffered enabled him to realise that described in the book. At length, however, he heard somebody speak to him. What was said he did not understand. He turned round, thinking it was Newland; but, instead of him, he saw a much older, taller boy, with a fair complexion, and greyish eyes. At the first glance, he did not like the expression of his countenance; and he was not over-pleased at being interrupted.“What do you think of our school?” said the boy. “Some of the fellows have been trying to make fun of you, but you do not mind that. I hate that sort of thing myself. We have got some tremendous bullies here. I’ll point them out to you, and show you how to avoid them. Where do you live?”Digby told him.“I live in Berkshire, some miles away from here, though. My name is John Spiller. I manage to get on very well with the fellows, and I’ll put you up to a thing or two which will be of great assistance to you. Now, about your play-box; you haven’t unpacked it yet, I suppose?”“No,” said Digby; “not yet.”“All right. Don’t till I can help you, or you’ll have everything carried off by the fellows,” observed Spiller. “While you are looking to see who has got hold of a knife, or a saw, or a cake, or a boat, others will be carrying off a pot of jam, or a Dutch cheese, or some gingerbread, or a pot of anchovies, or a parcel of herrings, or—”“Oh, there’s no fear of that. I have not got half the things you speak of,” said Digby, rather inclined to laugh at the collection of valuables his box was supposed to contain.“What have you got, then?” asked Spiller, point blank.Digby, who had not suspected his new acquaintance’s object in introducing the subject, was going to tell him, when Paul Newland came back to his desk.Spiller did not see him. He started, and seemed very much annoyed when Paul put his hand on his shoulder, and said, quietly—“Well, what do you find that he has got?”Spiller looked big enough to keep in awe a dozen such little fellows as Paul Newland, but he seemed in no way inclined to pick a quarrel with him.“Nothing that I know of,” he answered. “We have been merely talking about things in general; have we not, Heathcote? It will soon be bed-time, or I should like to have heard more about your part of the country. I’ll get you to tell me to-morrow. Good-night, Heathcote.” Saying this, he moved away.“I’m glad I came back when I did,” sail Newland. “That fellow is the most notorious sponge in the school. We call him Spongy Spiller. He makes friends with all the new fellows, and sticks like a leech to them as long as they have a piece of cake, or a lump of barley-sugar, or anything else in their boxes, which he can get hold of. His desk is full of things, which, he says, were given him, but which he has, in reality, sponged out of fellows. About your box; unless there is anything in it which won’t keep, just don’t open it for a day or two, till you are able to judge for yourself a little of fellows. To-morrow is a half-holiday, and you will better see what the different fellows really are.”Digby said he would take his advice, for he felt sure that he might trust him. Both Newland and Spiller were strangers, but, when comparing the two, he did not for a moment hesitate as to which was most worthy of his confidence.Just then the bell rang; and Paul told him they were to have prayers. He expected to see Mr Sanford; but instead, Mr Yates entered the head-master’s desk, and saying that he was too unwell to come into the schoolroom, read a very brief form of prayer, while the boys knelt up on the forms at their desks.Digby was not surprised to find very little attention or reverence, for though Mr Yates read slowly, in a loud voice, there was a something in his tone which showed that the devotional spirit was not there.The moment prayers were over, the boys rushed off upstairs. The lamps were put out by a man in a fustian coat, whom Digby had not seen before. Digby found Paul by his side.“Come along quickly, or you will have an apple-pie bed made,” he said, in a low voice. “You ought to have been out one of the first.”“Never mind,” answered Digby, laughing. “I know how to unmake it fast enough. I have done such a thing as make one myself.”“Very well, then,” said Paul, “we need not hurry. You are to sleep in our room, I find. I have gone through a good deal from the fellows there, though they now let me alone. You’ll not have a pleasant night of it, I am afraid. I wish that I could help you.”“You can help me,” exclaimed Digby, who had been been silent for some time, as they went upstairs. “I have made up my mind how to act. Is there no one who would support you?”“Yes; I think that there is one, Farnham. He is a good sort of fellow, but he generally sides with the majority. However, if he sees anything done in a spirited way, it would take with him.”“Then I’ll do it,” cried Digby. “There are no very big fellows who could thrash me easily.”“There are two or three a good deal bigger than you are; and I don’t think that you could thrash them.”“I don’t mind that,” answered Digby. “They would find me very tough, at all events, if they attempt to thrash me. You go into the room first; it won’t do to let it appear as if we had formed any plan together.”Newland seemed highly delighted at Digby’s proposal, and ran on into the room, which was at the end of a long passage.Digby followed in a few seconds. He had noted well the position of the bed Mrs Pike had told him was to be his, so he walked straight up to it. Susan had placed his night-shirt and night-cap on the pillow. A lamp, with a tin reflector, placed against the wall, over the wash-hand places, gave light to the room. Most of the boys had already got their clothes off, and had tumbled into bed; they were laughing, and talking, and cutting jokes with each other.Paul had begun to undress. Presently one of them, directly opposite Digby’s bed, put up his head, and said—“Ah, Master Digby Heathcote, son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme Hall, how are you?”“That’s me,” answered Digby, firmly; “I’m very well, I thank you, in very good condition, and not bad training; and I am strong, though not very big. And now I’ll tell you what I am going to do: I am going to make my bed, to see that it is comfortable, and then I am going to say my prayers, as I always do; and I beg that you fellows will not make a row till I have done. I shall not be long; then I intend to undress, and get into bed. After the candle is put out, if anything is shied at me, or any other trick is played, I’ll tell you what I intend to do. I have fixed upon one of the beds, with a fellow in it, and, big or little, as he may be, I’ll pay him off in such a way that he will be glad to help me another night in keeping order. I am not a greenhorn; I just want you to understand that.”There was something in Digby’s well-knit figure, sunburnt, honest countenance, and firm voice, which, as the boys, one after the other, popped up their heads to look at him, inspired them, if not with respect for him, at all events with a dislike to bring down on their heads the chastisement he threatened. The bigger boys, though they might have thrashed him in open daylight, could not tell what means he might have for attacking them; and those of his own size saw that he was very likely to thrash them, even on fair terms, if they attempted to try their strength together. No answer was made; so, whistling a merry tune, he set to work: first, he carefully and systematically undid his bed, which had been made into an apple-pie, and smoothing down the sheets, and tucking in the feet, he said—“Ah, now that will do.” Then he knelt down by the side of the bed, and most earnestly and sincerely repeated the prayers he had been accustomed to use. Several attempts were made to disturb him.“Shame, shame!” cried Paul Newland from beneath the bedclothes.Another voice said, “Shame! Let him at least say his prayers.”Digby very soon rose from his knees.“I am much obliged to those who cried shame,” he said, firmly. “It is a shame. It is an insult, not to me, but to Him to whom I was trying to pray. To morrow night I shall know most of the voices of our fellows, and I am resolved not to be interrupted. Now, make as much row as you like; I can sleep through it all; but you remember what I said.”Digby began undressing, and stowing his clothes away at the head of his bed, so that they could not be removed, jumped into bed.Just then an usher entered, to put out the light. It was the French master, Digby concluded, for one or two of the boys exchanged salutations with him, calling him Monsieur Guillaume. “Bon nuit, bon nuit—va dormir, mes enfants.” There was a great deal of chattering and noise as he went out.“Remember,” said Digby, in a firm voice; and then put his head on the pillow.“Oh, he’s a crowing little cock,” cried some one. “A regular bantam,” observed another. “I wonder if there are more like him at Bloxholme Hall?” exclaimed a third.But Digby made no answer. Similar remarks were made for some minutes, but he kept silence, till his persecutors began to grow sleepy. One after the other they dropped off, and so did he, at last; and never slept more soundly in his life.If all right-thinking boys would exercise the same firmness and resolution as Digby did on this occasion, the better disposed would soon gain the upper hand, and there would be much less bullying and general bad conduct than is too often to be found even at the best-regulated schools.

“Is this Grangewood House, John?” asked Digby, as he looked out of the window of the fly which had brought them from the railway station, and which was now stopping at a large white gate, which John Pratt had got off the box to open.

“Yes, sir; this be Mr Sanford’s academy for young gentlemen. There’s a great many on ’em comes backwards and forwards by me at times,” answered the driver, instead of John, who did not hear the question.

It was a substantial, large, red-brick house, completely in the country, with a circular drive up to it, and a meadowish piece of lawn, with some fine elms, in front. The place was not picturesque, but well suited for the requirements of a school. There were wide-spreading wings on either side, with a walled enclosure on the right, from which proceeded the sound of many young voices, shouting, bawling, and laughing, showing Digby that it was the playground. He altogether liked the look of things outside.

The fly stopped in front of the house; a flight of stone steps led up to the chief door. John descended, and rang the bell, and, while it was being answered, busied himself in taking his young master’s things out of the fly.

“Is this Mr Sanford’s school, young woman?” he asked of the maid-servant, who opened the door.

“It is, young man, and my name is Susan,” was the quick reply; some people might have called it pert.

“Then, Susan, do you just tell your master that young Master Digby Heathcote, the eldest son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme, has come,” answered John, letting down the steps, and handing Digby out with an air of the greatest respect. He unintentionally spoke, too, in a tone which sounded not a little pompous.

Several boys, who had been passing through the hall at the time, and, of course, followed Susan to the door, to have a look at the new comer, overheard the announcement. A loud shout of laughter from many voices followed, in a variety of tones, as they retreated down a passage. Digby heard them repeating one to the other “Young Master Digby Heathcote, the eldest son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme, has come. Ho, ho! young Master Digby, what an important person you are—ha! ha! ha!—we don’t think.” Great emphasis was laid on the words young master, and eldest son. Digby knew quite enough of boys to wish heartily that poor John had held his tongue.

“You’ll go round to the back door; or are you going away in the fly?” said the maid-servant, addressing John, with rather a scornful glance.

“Neither one nor t’other, Mistress Susan,” answered John. “I’m going to stay with Master Digby for the present.”

“You can’t do that; Master Digby has to go at once to Mr Sanford,” replied Susan.

“That’s where I’m going to, young woman, let me tell you,” exclaimed John, bristling up. “He has been spirited away once, and we had a hard job to get him back; and I’m not going to lose sight of him till I see him safe in Mr Sanford’s hands, who must be answerable for him whenever he is sent for. A pretty thing to leave him with such as you, indeed, who might go and declare that you never got him. No, Master Digby, dear—that’s what I’m going to do, I know my duty, and I’m going to do it.”

The last remark was made to Digby, who was expostulating, by signs, with John, fearing that he would offend Susan. The damsel, however, seemed not to care a bit for what John said; and would have shut the hall-door in his face, but he would not let go of Digby’s hand.

“Well, I don’t know what master will say to you,” exclaimed Susan, as John entered the hall, evidently resolved not to lose sight of Digby, or his boxes, till he had delivered them into what he considered proper custody. Susan, meantime, disappeared at a door on one side of the hall. She soon returned.

“You are to go in there,” she said, addressing Digby. “Not you,” she said, looking at John.

“There are just two opinions about that,” answered John, coolly opening the door, and walking with Digby into a handsome library.

A tall, delicate-looking man, was reclining in his dressing-gown on a sofa, with a book in his hand. He looked up with an expression of surprise on his countenance on seeing John; and then glanced at Digby, but did not rise.

“Bee’s you Mr Sanford, sir?” asked John, pulling the lock of his hair he usually employed for that purpose.

“Yes, I am, and the head of this school; and who are you?” said the gentleman, but not at all in an angry tone.

“I’m Squire Heathcote’s man, of Bloxholme, and this is his son, Master Digby Heathcote; and I’m to deliver him safe and sound into your hands, to keep him carefully till he is sent for home, or till you send him back,” answered John, firmly. “I suppose it’s all right, sir?”

“I will give you an acknowledgment in writing that I have him all safe,” said Mr Sanford, much amused at John’s mode of proceeding. “Go into the kitchen, and get something to eat and drink after your journey.”

“No, thank you, sir; I’d rather have the writing. I’m not hungry. We had something, Master Digby and I, as we came along; and I have to go back to the station with the fly.”

“Very well; push that table with the desk on it near me. I will give you what you require.”

John did as he was desired; and Mr Sanford wrote a short note, which he gave him.

John forthwith handed it to Digby. “I suppose it’s all right, Master Digby, dear,” he whispered. “I bean’t no great scholard, sir, and so I just wanted the young master to see that the lines was all right and proper. No offence to you, sir, you know,” he added, turning to Mr Sanford.

The schoolmaster was highly amused; but Digby was afraid that John had gone too far.

“It’s all right, John,” he exclaimed, taking his hand affectionately. “Good by, good by. My love to papa and mamma, and Kate and Gusty, and all; and don’t forget to look after Sweetlips, and tell Kate to write to me about him; but she’ll do that, I’m sure. You must go, John, I know you must.” Digby felt more inclined to cry than he had done before. John was the last link which united him with all the home associations he was conjuring up. John warmly returned Digby’s grasp. He went to the door, and opened it. He turned round once more with his hand on the lock.

“You has him in charge, sir,” he said, looking sternly at Mr Sanford. “Oh, take care of him, sir; he’s very precious down at Bloxholme there.”

John, afraid of trusting himself, bolted out of the door.

Digby overheard some words between John and Susan outside; they ended in a laugh, just before the fly drove off, so he had no doubt they had become good friends; and he afterwards had reason to believe that John had bestowed half a sovereign on her from his own pocket, to secure her good services for the young master.

“Sit down, young gentleman,” said Mr Sanford, in his usual languid tone, when John had taken his departure. “I am glad to have you as a pupil, for I find that you are a nephew of my old friend, Nugent, for whom I have a great regard. I dare say he has done you justice. What books have you read?—Latin and Greek, I mean?”

Digby told him; he had very little Greek to boast of, however.

“I thought that you were more forward,” observed Mr Sanford. “You will be placed under the third master, Mr Tugman, in his upper class, I hope. I must leave him to settle that. I will send for him, and he will take you round the school before tea-time, and introduce you to some of the boys. He may not be quite ready yet, so I will let Mrs Pike, the housekeeper, show you your dormitory, and have your things put away.”

Mr Sanford was taking unusual trouble about Digby. He rang the bell, and the usher and housekeeper were sent for. Mrs Pike appeared first; Old Jack, the boys called her. She had a stern, relentless expression of countenance, Digby thought. Her dress was black, with a plain white cap, and a large serviceable apron. There was business in her.

“Come along, young gentleman,” she said, taking Digby by the arm, when she had received the master’s directions. “It will be time for tea soon, and I shall have to go and look after it.”

She first showed Digby a large room fitted all round with lockers, or drawers, and numbers on each. Into this his things had been wheeled on a truck.

“Here is your drawer, Master Heathcote,” she observed. “You will remember the number—sixty-five. We had a hundred and thirty not long ago. Here you will keep your clothes; your play-box you can have with you in the play-room to-morrow; it can stay here till then. Now, come along to your dormitory. Susan will unpack your trunk; and if there is anything in it you want, you can have it when you come back.”

All this sounded very well. There were a dozen rooms on the first and second floors appropriated as bedrooms; some had eight or ten beds in them, others only three or four. Digby was shown a room looking out at the back of the house, with eight beds, in one of which Mrs Pike told him he was to sleep. There were wash-hand basins and tubs, and a drawer for each boy to hold his dressing things. All looked very neat and well-arranged. Mrs Pike prided herself on having her department in good order. She looked as if she could have said, “Better washed and fed than taught at this establishment.”

Digby returned well satisfied to the study, where Mr Sanford was still reading his book. He looked up, and was putting a question, in a kind tone of voice, to Digby, when the door opened. Digby looked up. A broad-shouldered, pock-marked man, with sandy hair and small grey eyes, entered. His costume, which consisted of a green coat, with a reddish handkerchief, a many-coloured waistcoat, and large plaid trousers, did not improve his appearance. He threw himself into a chair, if not with grace, at all events with ease, and observed, in an off-hand way, that it was a chilly day—a fact about which Mr Sanford did not seem inclined to dispute. He looked at Digby with no pleasant expression, and Digby looked at him, and hoped that he was not the usher under whom he was to be placed.

All doubt, however, about the matter was quickly removed by Mr Sanford saying—“I have sent for you, Mr Tugman, to beg that you will take charge of this new boy, Digby Heathcote. Examine him to-morrow, and place him as you judge best. I hope that he will be in the highest of your classes, as he has been lately under a clever man, an old college friend of mine, his uncle, for whom I have a great regard.”

The usher was listening, with a look of impatience, to all this.

“Oh, I know; he’s the son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme,” he observed, with a laugh, which Digby understood, for he spoke exactly with the expression of the boys who had heard him announced.

“I will take him with me, and introduce the young gentleman to his future playmates. I hope that he may get on well with them.”

“Do, Mr Tugman, do,” said Mr Sanford, languidly. “I wish that my health would allow me to afford greater support to my assistants, efficient as I am bound to say that they all are.”

Mr Tugman did not seem to listen to the compliment, but, with a slight good evening, taking Digby by the shoulder, walked him off to the schoolroom.

Digby felt somewhat like a fly in the grasp of a spider, for there was very little of thesuaviter in modo, however much there might have been of thefortiter in re, in Mr Tugman’s proceedings. They passed a large glass door, guarded on both sides by wire-work.

“These are your future companions,” he said, opening it, and pointing to a wide-extending gravel space at the back of the house, which Digby guessed was the playground. Though it was growing dark, the boys were still there; but all he could see was a confused mass of fellows rushing about, hallooing, and shouting: some with hoops, against which their sticks went clattering away incessantly; others driving, with whips cracking and horns tootooing; some were running races; others playing leap-frog, or high cock-o’-lorum; indeed, nearly every game which could make the blood circulate on a cold winter’s evening, had its advocates. From the darkness, and from the state of constant movement in which they all were, there appeared to be double the number of boys Mrs Pike had mentioned.

“Well, what do you think of them?” asked Mr Tugman.

Digby said, “That he could form no opinion from the slight view he had of them.”

“Not badly answered,” observed Mr Tugman. “Now I will show you the schoolroom before they come in, and select a desk, so that you may make yourself at home at once.”

Going down a few steps, Digby found himself in a large and lofty room, or hall, lighted by lamps from the ceiling, with rows of desks across it, and two large fire-places at the sides towards each end. At one end was a high desk, and there were five or six smaller desks, intended for the masters, down the hall, flanking the rows, as the sergeants stand in a regiment, drawn up on parade. The hall ran at right angles to the back of the house, by the side of the playground, and had evidently been built for a schoolroom.

Mr Tugman took Digby to the further end, where his own desk was, and lifting up several in one of the last rows, he came to one which was entirely empty.

“Seventy is the number, is it not?” he asked, going to his own desk. “Now, take this key, lock up whatever you like. I dare say you have some good things in your play-box, or valuables of some sort; put them there, and make yourself at home.”

Scarcely had these arrangements been concluded, when a bell rang, and the boys came trooping into the schoolroom. He was fairly caught, like a mouse in a trap. At first he was not perceived; but it was soon buzzed about, that the new boy was there, and he was quickly saluted by—

“How do you do, Master Digby Heathcote, son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme Hall?”

“Pretty well, I thank you, young gentlemen,” answered Digby, determined not to be outdone, and resolved to put a bold face on the matter. “I shall be happy to make the acquaintance of any of those who will favour me with their cards, and an account of their own family, parentage, and connexions.”

“He is a pert little chap,” observed one. “Plenty of impudence in him,” said another. “A plucky little cock, though, I think,” remarked a fourth. Opinions among the bigger fellows varied considerably as to his character, and how he was to be treated.

Seldom is there a school without a bully, and Grangewood was no exception to the rule. The chief bully was a big, hulking fellow, called Scarborough. He remarked, “That there was a great deal to be taken out of the little cock, and that he purposed having the satisfaction of taking it.”

“I’m in the habit of giving small change, remember that,” said Digby, who had overheard the remark—as it had been intended he should.

Scarborough turned white with rage on this being said; and would then and there have inflicted condign punishment on the daring upstart, had not the bell rang, and the boys been called to order by Mr Yates, the head usher, who, entering Mr Sanford’s desk, assumed command in the evening. He only deferred doing so, however, till another opportunity.

The little fellows, and those about Digby’s own age, listened with eager and surprised ears to what he said; and at once looked upon him as one likely to prove their champion. In a very short time he had made a number both of friends and foes; but, curiously enough, he knew none of them by sight, as he could only distinguish the countenances of the few who sat immediately about him. They being mostly about his age, and having suffered from the tyranny of Scarborough, were inclined to side with him.

As, of course, he had nothing to do, he was able to sit quiet, and observe what was going forward. Each of the masters called up a class to say lessons, while the rest of the boys had to prepare them for the following day. Books were got out, and a murmur of voices was heard through the school. A stranger coming in might have fancied that everybody was very studiously employed; but although all had piles of books before them, on a closer inspection he would have seen, as Digby did, that very few were really learning their lessons; some were drawing, others playing games, draughts, or spillikins, or dominoes, and some even had cards; many were cutting out things in card-board or wood, making models of carriages, and houses, and boats. It had become the practice of the school at that time of the evening, especially as they would have another half hour in the morning to look over the lessons they were then supposed to be learning. Digby was surprised, and thought that he had come to a very slack sort of school. He was not particularly shocked, for he could not fancy that what everybody was doing was so very wrong.

The classes had just been dismissed, when another bell rang, and everybody hurried away out of the schoolroom. Digby, not knowing what was to take place, sat still.

“Come with me,” said a boy, who looked rather smaller than himself. “I am delighted with the way you answered that big bully, Scarborough. Keep up to it; don’t give in, and I will stick by you. We are now going into tea. I will find a place for you near myself, and tell you all about the fellows.”

Digby was very glad to fall in at once with a friend; and he at once accepted the little boy’s offer.

“My name is Paul Newland,” said his new companion, as they followed the rest into the tea-room. “I am rather older than I look, for I am not very big; but I intend to grow some day. You will be in my class, I suspect. I’m at the top of it, and expect to get into the sixth soon; that is, under Mr Moore, who is a very quiet sort of fellow. You must try and work up along with me. There is nothing like working, I find. I came in at the lowest, and got up three classes in one half year. But this is the tea-room. Come along; don’t mind what fellows say.”

This was not an unnecessary caution, for Digby found himself saluted as he went along by the boys turning sharply round and saying—

“How do you do, Master Digby Heathcote, son and heir of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme Hall? Welcome to Grangewood House, most noble young Squire.”

It need not be said how Digby felt, but he fortunately kept his temper; nor did he lose his appetite in consequence of these sarcastic greetings.

“I wish that John Pratt had not announced me in that way. Of course it would make a capital joke for the fellows,” he said to himself, as he took his seat at the table.

The boys near nodded to him, holding up their mugs of tea with mock gravity.

“Your health, Master Digby Heathcote, son and heir of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme Hall,” was repeated over and over again, in various tones.

Digby was determined not to be put out, whatever was said or done. He lifted his mug to his lips—it was filled with a liquid he thought most execrable—some one had evidently put salt in it; but he pretended not to have discovered the bad taste.

“Young gentlemen,” he said, holding up his mug, and mimicking the tones of those who had spoken to him, “I beg to return you my thanks for the honour you have done me. When I know your names and places of abode, as well as you appear to know mine, I can address you more personally. As neither tea nor salt-water are the proper things to drink to the health of one’s friends, I will make a libation with the contents of my mug into the slop-basin, which you will receive as a mark of the honour I wish to do you.”

Digby was sorely puzzled to pump up all these words. He had never made so long a speech in his life before; but the importance of the object inspired him; and a large slop-basin standing before him to receive the dregs of the mugs, put the idea into his head. He had been afraid at first that he should have been obliged to drink the salted tea.

His young friend, Paul Newland, inquired why the boys addressed him as they had been doing; and he then explained that it was owing to John Pratt’s desire to give him importance; instead of which, as is often the case, a contrary effect had been produced.

“I need not tell you not to mind, for I see you don’t,” observed Paul. “Everybody has to go through something of the sort when they first come, and some remain butts all the time they stay. That sort of thing matters very little if a fellow keeps his temper, and pretends not to notice it. They soon grow tired of a joke when it produces no effect. They bothered me a great deal when I first came, and called me Paul Pry, and Paul the Preacher, and Little Bank Note, and Pretty Poll, and Polly, and all sorts of names, and they played all sorts of tricks; but I pretended not to mind, though I was really very much annoyed; and, at last, they gave it up, and it is only occasionally that I now get addressed in that way.”

Digby thanked Newland for his good advice, and promised to follow it as far as his temper would allow.

“Oh, that is the very thing; you must keep in your temper,” answered Newland. “I don’t mean to say that you may harbour revenge, or that you intend to pay them off another day. Far from that; that would be horrid, you know, not like a Christian or an honest Englishman; but that you may disarm them, make them ashamed of themselves, or tired of their stale tricks or jokes.”

Paul went on talking in a quiet, low tone, while Digby was munching a thick slice of bread-and-butter. He sent up his cup for some more tea by one of the attendant maid-servants; but was told by Mrs Pike, who had seen him throw the first away, that he could have no more.

“But some salt had got into the mug, marm; and salt with tea is not pleasant, I assure you,” exclaimed Digby, feeling very indignant, notwithstanding Newland’s exhortations and his own resolutions.

“We only use sugar at Grangewood House, young gentleman,” answered Mrs Pike, looking angrily at the bold assertion of the new boy. “Those who throw their tea away can have no more. That is the rule here; is it not, Mr Tugman?”

The third master, thus appealed to, replied, with what he intended to be a bland smile, though it had very much the look of a grin—

“Certainly, marm, certainly. Master Digby Heathcote, of Bloxholme, has been brought up with rather extravagant notions, and has been accustomed to take salt as well as sugar in his tea.”

This sally produced a grin from the surrounding boys who heard it; for the big fellows considered him a great wit, and a jolly cock, a character he had striven to obtain from some, that he might the more easily manage, or rather bully, the rest.

“Never mind,” whispered Paul; “wait a moment till no one is looking, and take mine. I’ll get some more presently, if I want it. Mrs Pike likes me, as I never bother her. She’ll like you some day, if you are quiet and well-behaved. She’s not ill-natured at bottom, but her temper gets put out very often. She almost manages the school now, since Mr Sanford has been ill.”

Digby accepted the offer; and Newland soon afterwards got a fresh and ample supply for himself. Perhaps Mrs Pike winked at the arrangement, after she had duly asserted her authority.

Digby had been accustomed to very different tea arrangements, and did not admire those he now saw. The tea was made in great urns, and there were huge jugs of milk, or, as the boys declared, of milk-and-water, and basins of brown sugar. The mixture was served out in blue and white mugs, which did duty as beer mugs at dinner; while trays, with slices of bread-and-butter, were continually being handed round. Of the latter, the boys might have as much as they wanted; and their tastes were so far consulted, that they might have milk-and-water without tea and sugar, if they wished for it. They sat at table chattering away, or playing tricks with each other, or reading, if they liked, provided the books were not on the table, till the bell again rang, and they hurried back into the schoolroom.

Other classes were now called up, and more lessons were supposed to be learned; but nothing was very strictly attended to at that time in the evening. In summer, they would have been out in the playground. The boys in those classes which had said their lessons were allowed to amuse themselves as they liked at their desks, either in reading, or writing, or making some of the nine hundred and ninety-nine curious articles which boys are wont to manufacture.

As Digby had nothing to do, Newland lent him an interesting book—“The Swiss Family of Robinson”—which he had never seen. He was soon absorbed in it, and not at all inclined to be interrupted. The shipwreck he had suffered enabled him to realise that described in the book. At length, however, he heard somebody speak to him. What was said he did not understand. He turned round, thinking it was Newland; but, instead of him, he saw a much older, taller boy, with a fair complexion, and greyish eyes. At the first glance, he did not like the expression of his countenance; and he was not over-pleased at being interrupted.

“What do you think of our school?” said the boy. “Some of the fellows have been trying to make fun of you, but you do not mind that. I hate that sort of thing myself. We have got some tremendous bullies here. I’ll point them out to you, and show you how to avoid them. Where do you live?”

Digby told him.

“I live in Berkshire, some miles away from here, though. My name is John Spiller. I manage to get on very well with the fellows, and I’ll put you up to a thing or two which will be of great assistance to you. Now, about your play-box; you haven’t unpacked it yet, I suppose?”

“No,” said Digby; “not yet.”

“All right. Don’t till I can help you, or you’ll have everything carried off by the fellows,” observed Spiller. “While you are looking to see who has got hold of a knife, or a saw, or a cake, or a boat, others will be carrying off a pot of jam, or a Dutch cheese, or some gingerbread, or a pot of anchovies, or a parcel of herrings, or—”

“Oh, there’s no fear of that. I have not got half the things you speak of,” said Digby, rather inclined to laugh at the collection of valuables his box was supposed to contain.

“What have you got, then?” asked Spiller, point blank.

Digby, who had not suspected his new acquaintance’s object in introducing the subject, was going to tell him, when Paul Newland came back to his desk.

Spiller did not see him. He started, and seemed very much annoyed when Paul put his hand on his shoulder, and said, quietly—

“Well, what do you find that he has got?”

Spiller looked big enough to keep in awe a dozen such little fellows as Paul Newland, but he seemed in no way inclined to pick a quarrel with him.

“Nothing that I know of,” he answered. “We have been merely talking about things in general; have we not, Heathcote? It will soon be bed-time, or I should like to have heard more about your part of the country. I’ll get you to tell me to-morrow. Good-night, Heathcote.” Saying this, he moved away.

“I’m glad I came back when I did,” sail Newland. “That fellow is the most notorious sponge in the school. We call him Spongy Spiller. He makes friends with all the new fellows, and sticks like a leech to them as long as they have a piece of cake, or a lump of barley-sugar, or anything else in their boxes, which he can get hold of. His desk is full of things, which, he says, were given him, but which he has, in reality, sponged out of fellows. About your box; unless there is anything in it which won’t keep, just don’t open it for a day or two, till you are able to judge for yourself a little of fellows. To-morrow is a half-holiday, and you will better see what the different fellows really are.”

Digby said he would take his advice, for he felt sure that he might trust him. Both Newland and Spiller were strangers, but, when comparing the two, he did not for a moment hesitate as to which was most worthy of his confidence.

Just then the bell rang; and Paul told him they were to have prayers. He expected to see Mr Sanford; but instead, Mr Yates entered the head-master’s desk, and saying that he was too unwell to come into the schoolroom, read a very brief form of prayer, while the boys knelt up on the forms at their desks.

Digby was not surprised to find very little attention or reverence, for though Mr Yates read slowly, in a loud voice, there was a something in his tone which showed that the devotional spirit was not there.

The moment prayers were over, the boys rushed off upstairs. The lamps were put out by a man in a fustian coat, whom Digby had not seen before. Digby found Paul by his side.

“Come along quickly, or you will have an apple-pie bed made,” he said, in a low voice. “You ought to have been out one of the first.”

“Never mind,” answered Digby, laughing. “I know how to unmake it fast enough. I have done such a thing as make one myself.”

“Very well, then,” said Paul, “we need not hurry. You are to sleep in our room, I find. I have gone through a good deal from the fellows there, though they now let me alone. You’ll not have a pleasant night of it, I am afraid. I wish that I could help you.”

“You can help me,” exclaimed Digby, who had been been silent for some time, as they went upstairs. “I have made up my mind how to act. Is there no one who would support you?”

“Yes; I think that there is one, Farnham. He is a good sort of fellow, but he generally sides with the majority. However, if he sees anything done in a spirited way, it would take with him.”

“Then I’ll do it,” cried Digby. “There are no very big fellows who could thrash me easily.”

“There are two or three a good deal bigger than you are; and I don’t think that you could thrash them.”

“I don’t mind that,” answered Digby. “They would find me very tough, at all events, if they attempt to thrash me. You go into the room first; it won’t do to let it appear as if we had formed any plan together.”

Newland seemed highly delighted at Digby’s proposal, and ran on into the room, which was at the end of a long passage.

Digby followed in a few seconds. He had noted well the position of the bed Mrs Pike had told him was to be his, so he walked straight up to it. Susan had placed his night-shirt and night-cap on the pillow. A lamp, with a tin reflector, placed against the wall, over the wash-hand places, gave light to the room. Most of the boys had already got their clothes off, and had tumbled into bed; they were laughing, and talking, and cutting jokes with each other.

Paul had begun to undress. Presently one of them, directly opposite Digby’s bed, put up his head, and said—

“Ah, Master Digby Heathcote, son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme Hall, how are you?”

“That’s me,” answered Digby, firmly; “I’m very well, I thank you, in very good condition, and not bad training; and I am strong, though not very big. And now I’ll tell you what I am going to do: I am going to make my bed, to see that it is comfortable, and then I am going to say my prayers, as I always do; and I beg that you fellows will not make a row till I have done. I shall not be long; then I intend to undress, and get into bed. After the candle is put out, if anything is shied at me, or any other trick is played, I’ll tell you what I intend to do. I have fixed upon one of the beds, with a fellow in it, and, big or little, as he may be, I’ll pay him off in such a way that he will be glad to help me another night in keeping order. I am not a greenhorn; I just want you to understand that.”

There was something in Digby’s well-knit figure, sunburnt, honest countenance, and firm voice, which, as the boys, one after the other, popped up their heads to look at him, inspired them, if not with respect for him, at all events with a dislike to bring down on their heads the chastisement he threatened. The bigger boys, though they might have thrashed him in open daylight, could not tell what means he might have for attacking them; and those of his own size saw that he was very likely to thrash them, even on fair terms, if they attempted to try their strength together. No answer was made; so, whistling a merry tune, he set to work: first, he carefully and systematically undid his bed, which had been made into an apple-pie, and smoothing down the sheets, and tucking in the feet, he said—“Ah, now that will do.” Then he knelt down by the side of the bed, and most earnestly and sincerely repeated the prayers he had been accustomed to use. Several attempts were made to disturb him.

“Shame, shame!” cried Paul Newland from beneath the bedclothes.

Another voice said, “Shame! Let him at least say his prayers.”

Digby very soon rose from his knees.

“I am much obliged to those who cried shame,” he said, firmly. “It is a shame. It is an insult, not to me, but to Him to whom I was trying to pray. To morrow night I shall know most of the voices of our fellows, and I am resolved not to be interrupted. Now, make as much row as you like; I can sleep through it all; but you remember what I said.”

Digby began undressing, and stowing his clothes away at the head of his bed, so that they could not be removed, jumped into bed.

Just then an usher entered, to put out the light. It was the French master, Digby concluded, for one or two of the boys exchanged salutations with him, calling him Monsieur Guillaume. “Bon nuit, bon nuit—va dormir, mes enfants.” There was a great deal of chattering and noise as he went out.

“Remember,” said Digby, in a firm voice; and then put his head on the pillow.

“Oh, he’s a crowing little cock,” cried some one. “A regular bantam,” observed another. “I wonder if there are more like him at Bloxholme Hall?” exclaimed a third.

But Digby made no answer. Similar remarks were made for some minutes, but he kept silence, till his persecutors began to grow sleepy. One after the other they dropped off, and so did he, at last; and never slept more soundly in his life.

If all right-thinking boys would exercise the same firmness and resolution as Digby did on this occasion, the better disposed would soon gain the upper hand, and there would be much less bullying and general bad conduct than is too often to be found even at the best-regulated schools.

Chapter Twelve.Digby’s Trials and Triumph—The Bully and the Sponge—A Dinner at Grangewood—Digby’s Fight with Bully Scarborough—A Friend in Need.Digby had gained a great triumph—more important, probably, than he was aware of. That first night of his arrival at Grangewood had been the turning-point of his school life. Had he yielded in the first instance, been terrified by threats, lost his temper, shown the white feather in any way, he would, insensibly, have become like one of the rest—leavened with their leaven, addicted to their bad habits, a thoughtless, idle little tyrant; too likely, on entering the world, to become a useless profligate. As it was, in consequence of his conduct, he had inspired some of his new companions with admiration, and others with respect; while even those of baser nature felt that he was likely to prove a person with whom it would be disagreeable and inconvenient to contend; and so it became impressed on their minds, that it would be better to let him alone. Of course, these feelings were only shared among the boys of his room. He had still to make his way in the school. Like a knight-errant of old, there were many giants for him to overcome; many castles, surrounded by enchantments, to enter, before he could hope to establish himself on a proper footing in the school. Of course he did not think all this; he only felt that he had altogether acted in a perfectly satisfactory way, and was contented, and pretty happy. He slept soundly, but was the first to awake in the room. He jumped up, put on some of his clothes, said his prayers, and then went to the wash-hand basin, and began sousing his face away in the cold water, as was his custom.Slowly the cold, grey light of a February morning drew on. A bell now sounded loudly through the house, to rouse the inmates from their slumbers. The other boys awoke, and lifted up their heads to see how the new boy looked by daylight. They saw him standing in his trousers and shirt, with his sleeves tucked up, his face glowing with the cold water, his hair brushed back, and scrubbing away at his hands in a basin full of lather, with an energy which showed that cold water had no terrors for him. His well-knit frame, broad chest, and muscular little arms, appeared to considerable advantage. Some of the boys, who were unable to appreciate higher qualifications, could not fail to feel respect for these; though Digby had not thought about them, nor was he aware of the strength which he possessed, which, for his size, was considerable. He brushed his hair with the same sort of energy with which he had washed his hands, and then went to the drawer which had been awarded to him, to put away his things. He was rather disgusted than amused at seeing the dawdling way in which the boys put on their clothes, and the mode in which they dabbed their faces over with the cold water, and hurriedly dipped their hands in, though some only half dried them, after all. Paul and Farnham were an exception to the rule.“Well, Heathcote, I hope that you have slept soundly in this, to you, strange place,” said Paul, in his usual brisk tone.“As sound as a top. It is all the same to me, when I have my head on a comfortable pillow. It takes a good deal to keep me awake,” answered Digby, in the same tone. “I sleep fast, and get it over the sooner. I hate to be long about what can be well done quickly.”“So do I,” answered Newland. “Slow coaches are apt to break down as often as fast ones.”Another bell now rang loudly, and the boys all hurried away downstairs to the schoolroom. Digby accompanied Paul. He felt several fellows push against his back, to throw him downstairs, but he was on his guard; and one of them, to the fellow’s surprise, he lifted up on his shoulders, and, without difficulty, carried him down to the next landing-place, where he bumped him pretty hard against the wall. Another, not seeing what had occurred, tried the same trick. Digby, putting his hands suddenly behind his back, seized him, and had carried him down, holding the boy’s arms tight, and was beginning to bump him, when he felt his own ears pulled, and a voice exclaiming—“Vat you do dat for? Is dat de way you new boy is going to behave here?”Digby guessed that it was Monsieur Guillaume, the French master, who was thus addressing him.“He tried to push me downstairs, sir; and I wish to show him that two can play at most games of that sort,” answered Digby, quietly.“Ah, I do not tink you say de truth, you,” exclaimed the French master, angrily. “He is a good boy; myprotégé; speak French well. Put him down, I say. Tommy Bray, come here; you not hurt, my poor boy?”Digby put Tommy Bray on his feet, who accompanied Monsieur Guillaume into the schoolroom, where Paul and Digby followed.“The Frenchman has given you a fair specimen of himself. He is the most uncertain, fickle little fellow I ever met. He bullies all the little fellows except his favourites, orprotégés, as he calls them, and makes up to the older ones, who are big enough to thrash him, if they like. He spites those who don’t learn French, because he is not paid for them. He is always trying, therefore, to get new pupils. However, I do not believe that he is really bad tempered when he has his own way. He has been soured by loss of property; and having to live out of la belle France. And do you know, Heathcote, I really do believe that an usher at a school like this, when no one is exactly master, and the big boys have it much their own way, has a good deal to put up with.”“I should think so,” observed Digby, as they entered the schoolroom.They went to their desks. Mr Yates read prayers, and though everybody was cold and hungry, lessons began.Mr Tugman had not yet had time to examine Digby, so he sat at his desk reading the Swiss Family of Robinson, which he confessedly preferred to lessons. Each master had a class up before him; there were some crying; a good deal of caning on the fingers—a particularly disagreeable punishment, in cold weather especially—and a considerable amount of blundering and hesitation. A few quick runs round the playground would have saved a great deal of suffering and discontent; but Mr Sanford never went out in the morning, and it never occurred to him that the blood in his pupils’ veins would circulate more freely with a little brisk exercise, and give vivacity to their intellects.Breakfast was at last announced by the constant sounding bell. It varied little from tea, except that those who liked bread-and-milk might have it. It was served out in large basins.Digby, however, preferred the tea. He kept his eye sharply on his mug, to see that it was not tampered with. He observed Tommy Bray take a pinch of salt, and then ask for a cup of tea, though he had a basin of bread-and-milk before him.“Tommy Bray,” cried Digby, in an undertone, “you had better not. Susan, bring me that mug of tea, please. He does not want it.”Susan, remembering John Pratt’s half sovereign, brought Digby the tea intact; and Tommy was disappointed of his trick.Several other boys, however, commenced their jokes on the new comer as soon as their spirits had revived a little, by their appetites being satisfied; but none of those in his room attempted anything of the sort; and it soon became whispered about that the new boy was a plucky little cock, and that his arm had a great lump of muscle in it, as big almost as Scarborough’s, which he was so fond of exhibiting.After breakfast, the boys went into the playground. It was cold enough to make everybody wish to run about as much as they could. Hoops were the order of the day; and Farnham came up and asked Digby if he had got a hoop.“No; I never trundled one in my life, but I will try,” he answered. “I did not know that gentlemen used them. I have only seen the boys in the streets at Osberton play with them.”Farnham thought that he was supercilious in his remark. “Oh, then, I suppose you would not condescend to trundle a hoop?” he exclaimed, turning away.“But I would though, gladly,” cried Digby; “if you can lend me one, and just show me the knack of the thing, I shall like it very much.”Farnham was satisfied, and brought him a good strong hoop which he had wished to offer him. His first attempts were not very successful; but he saw how Farnham pressed the stick against the hoop rather than beat it, and kept his eye on it and not on his stick, watching every deviation from the direct line, so he was soon able to drive it along at a fair rate, with tolerable satisfaction to himself.Soon after returning into school, Mr Tugman called him up to undergo the threatened examination. It was not very severe, and he managed to get through it pretty well. He had a vague suspicion, indeed, that the usher himself was not an over-ripe scholar. He found afterwards that his suspicions were correct, and that poor Mr Tugman had to get up every night the lessons he had to hear his head class the following day. No wonder that his temper was not over-sweet, and that he was awfully afraid of the big boys, lest they should find out how much more they knew than he did. He was placed in Paul Newland’s class, but as it was Saturday he did not go up with it; so that, with Paul’s assistance, he was able to prepare his lessons for Monday. He determined to do his best, and set to work to get them up thoroughly.Boys in a private school have an advantage over those at a public one. If they wish to study during school hours they can do so, under the eye of the masters, without any fear of interruption. In a public one, excellent as the system of most of the great ones is, the boys, working in their own studies with one or two companions only, are liable to the practical jokes and tricks of various sorts of the idly disposed, who may have resolved to prevent them altogether from getting up their lessons, and, of course, then it is very difficult work to do so. School was over at half-past twelve, and then for a short time they all rushed into the playground.Spiller was on the watch for Digby at the door. “I am glad to find you, Heathcote,” he said, in a soft, quiet voice. “You remember what I told you about your play-box last night. If you come with me I will show you where to put it, and what to do with the things you have got.”“Shall I call him spongy to his face, and so show him that I know his character?” thought Digby. “No; I don’t like to do that, it’s scarcely right.—Thank you, Spiller,” he said aloud, “I am not certain that I shall unpack my things to-day. I have nothing that won’t keep, I believe; and I want to become better acquainted with fellows before I cut up my cake.”This was a poser for Spiller, who had never before received such an answer. He looked very hard at Digby, to try and find out whether he knew anything about his character; but Digby had said simply what he had intended to do, and Spiller was completely puzzled. Still he was determined to try again. “Most fellows like to open their boxes at once, to give away some of the good things they have got, to prove their generosity,” he observed. “A fellow can’t expect to have friends unless he does something to win them, you know. I only tell you this as a hint, just that you may know how to act.”“I don’t fancy buying friends in that way,” answered Digby, laughing; “I should not trust much to a fellow who said he was my friend for a piece of cake or a spoonful of jam. If anybody else offered him a bigger piece, or more jam, he would very quickly leave me. I like fellows not for what they have got, but for what they are; and I want to be liked for the same reason myself.”“Oh, I see that you are a radical,” said Spiller, sneeringly; “those are regular chartists’ sentiments; but they won’t go down with me, let me tell you.”Digby burst out into a regular fit of laughter.“Well, I never should have supposed that it could be considered radical to like a fellow with a number of good qualities who was poor, in preference to a bad fellow who happened to be rich. I must repeat it, that I hope to find friends among the boys here, whom I shall like for their good qualities.”“As you please,” remarked Spiller; “of course I can’t force you to do as I recommend; but if, on thinking the matter over, you change your mind, come to me and I will help you. Those are my principles; I’m not ashamed of them, let me tell you.”What Spiller meant by his principles, Digby could not tell. Perhaps he might have explained more clearly, but he saw Paul Newland approaching, and he knew that he must abandon his designs for the present on Digby’s strong box.Digby told Paul how he had managed Spiller.“Capital,” exclaimed Paul. “I wish that we could get rid of all the disagreeable fellows in the school as easily as you have, for the present, of Spiller; but I want to tell you to be on your guard against that big bully, Scarborough. The fellows were talking about you just now, and mentioning the plucky way in which you behaved last night; instead of saying, as I am sure he ought, that you acted very rightly, he sneered and vowed that he would very soon take the pride out of you.”“Let him try, if he wishes,” answered Digby, not particularly alarmed, for he never had been imbued with any especial dread of big fellows; his fearlessness, however, in reality, arose from his want of experience of the evil they had the power of inflicting; “if he knocks my nose off, he certainly will prevent me from feeling proud of my face, but otherwise, I don’t see how he can very well alter my character.”Paul thought Digby a perfect hero, and wished for the time when he would be big enough to be cock of the school. While they were speaking, Scarborough lounged by with his hand on the shoulder of another fellow, very much of his own character. There is a great similarity in the look of all bullies, not so much in figure as in expression of countenance; some are big, burly fellows, like Scarborough, others are tall and thin. Of course, they all have more or less physical strength; some are dark and some are fair, but they one and all have an inexpressible resemblance to each other. Scarborough passed close to Digby, and as he did so he put out his foot, and tried to trip him up; but Digby observed the action, and, guessing the intention, jumped off the ground, and escaped even being touched. He felt inclined to make some remark, but he restrained his temper, and left the bully without any excuse for picking a quarrel with him. Scarborough strolled to the end of the playground, and when he came back, he stopped, and looking hard at Digby, said—“I suppose you are the new fellow who is going to do such mighty things in the school—well, I want you to understand that I shall not allow you to play any of your tricks with me; remember that.”Digby looked at the bully very steadily; he felt that he ought to answer him, if he could do so, quietly, so he said—“I don’t know of any tricks which I wish to play; but if you will just tell me what you don’t like of what I have done, or have been said to have done, I will do my best not to offend you.”“It’s very well for you to talk in that way,” said the bully, disarmed for the moment; for even he could not venture to thrash a fellow without some pretext; “just remember to keep up to it, or you’ll find yourself in the wrong box with me, my lad, that’s all.”With this ambiguous threat, the bully moved on.“Well done again,” exclaimed little Paul, who had been trembling with alarm all the time for the result of the meeting; “he won’t let you off without many another attack; but manage him as you have already done, and I do not think that he will annoy you much.”The moment the dinner-bell rang, there was another general rush into the dining-room. This was that the first comers might secure the best pieces of bread and mugs of beer, arranged up and down the tables. Digby found only half a mugful of beer and a very small piece of bread remaining to his share; but he was not at all put out, and made no remark, resolving another day to be earlier in the field.Grangewood School had existed for a number of years, and things were carried on there very much in the old-fashioned style in most respects. Mr Sanford was a very good scholar and a gentleman, but he had no talent for the economical arrangements of a school. It is a favourite saying with some people, that boys are better fed than taught. He had resolved that, as far as he had the power, they should be well taught; but it did not occur to him, that it was incumbent on him to see that they were well fed and well looked after.Mrs Pike was, fortunately for him, a conscientious person; but her notions were somewhat antiquated. She wished to attend to his interests, and she was not aware that they and those of the boys were identical; that is to say, that if the boys were thoroughly looked after, well fed as well as well taught, brought up as Christians and gentlemen, the school would flourish; and that if the boys were badly and coarsely fed and treated, and neglected, the school would go down-hill.Digby was very hungry; the novelty of his position did not spoil his appetite. He turned his head in the direction of the table at which Mrs Pike, supported by Mr Yates, usually sat to superintend the serving out of provender, to see what was coming. Some huge dishes piled up with large white balls were brought in, and plates, containing half of one of the balls, were in succession thumped down before each of the boys. Digby turned over the mass with his fork to discover the contents, but finding nothing but a mass of dough and a strong smell of beer, he put it down; and when one of the maid-servants came by, held out his plate, and quietly said, that he would rather have meat before pudding. The maid-servant, who was not Susan, or she might have whispered a bit of good advice, seized his plate, and going up with it to Mrs Pike, said in a loud voice, so that all might hear:—“The new boy, Master Digby Heathcote, marm, says that he likes meat before pudding.”Mrs Pike cast a withering glance at Digby; such a piece of insubordination had not been met with for a long time to her authority.“We here give pudding before meat, young gentleman, if it suits us,” she exclaimed, in a dictatorial tone; “if you do not choose to eat such excellent pudding as this is, you can have no meat. Take it back to him, Jane.”Again the plate was placed before him.“You had better eat it,” whispered Paul Newland. “It is very good yeast dumpling, and you will like it when you are accustomed to it.”“With all my heart,” answered Digby, laughing. “I did not want to make such a fuss about the matter. I like duff very well, only I really thought that they had forgotten to put the meat on my plate.”“Don’t touch the stuff, Heathcote, take my advice,” exclaimed Spiller, in a low tone, across the table. “You have got plenty of good things in your box to feed on, I dare say. All new fellows have; and there is nothing like holding out against injustice.”“Thank you,” said Digby, pretty well guessing Spiller’s drift. “I had rather not lose my dinner. Very good stuff, though; capital duff; a little sugar and wine would make it perfect.”He ate it all up.“Here, Jane,” he exclaimed, holding out his plate; “say that I find it very good, and should like some more.”Jane, who was pretty well up to the tricks young gentlemen were capable of playing, looked suspiciously at his pockets, and then under the table, to ascertain whether he really had eaten up the dumpling; but even she was assured by his ingenuous countenance, and so she went up to the head table, and said that Master Digby Heathcote liked the yeast dumpling and wanted some more.Mrs Pike looked, also, very suspiciously at Digby.“I’ll give him some,” said Mr Yates, who was assisting in serving out the provisions.Mrs Pike, with feminine tact, would have given a small piece, not to disgust him; but he, whether with malice or from thoughtlessness, put very nearly a whole one on the plate. Some brown sugar, however, was added by Susan on its way to Digby; and when he got it, he liked the taste so much, that although not aware that Mrs Pike’s sharp eyes were on him, he sat manfully to work; and yeast dumpling being of a very compressible nature, he demolished the whole mass in a very short time.It did occur to Mrs Pike’s economical mind that it was fortunate the new boy liked pudding, or he would be very expensive to feed.Digby felt rather thirsty, so he drank up his beer. That was rather sour; but he was not easily put out, and he felt already very much as if he had dined. When a huge dish of salt beef, with carrots and turnips, did come, he could do but little justice to it; but he was grateful to Mrs Pike’s delicate attention, when, in a tone of which he did not discover the sarcasm, she pressed him to take a second helping.He begged to have some more beer, though; but was told that one cupful was the allowance, and so had to quench his thirst with water.“We have pudding first only twice in the week,” observed Paul. “I have got accustomed to it, and rather like the variety, though I thought it odd at first. One day we have yeast, and another suet-dumpling. Then two days we generally have pease-soup, or some fellows do call it pease-porridge. It is rather thick, to be sure, and on those days we have porter instead of beer. I seldom after it have an appetite, even for Irish-stew or toad-in-the-hole. On Wednesdays, Mrs Pike lets a cake-man come just before dinner with gingerbread and lollipops; and many fellows would rather spend their money on his grub than in any other way; and they are not so hungry on that day, and don’t care so much what they have. We call that scrap-and-pudding day, because we have hashes first and rice-dumplings afterwards. Mrs Pike, on that day, always talks about the immense sum she spends on currants and other groceries for the school.”However, enough about eating; Paul and Digby were philosophers in their way, and had no wish to make grievances out of trifles.Mr Sanford himself would have been horrified had he known the light in which the domestic arrangements of his establishment were regarded; and it told among the elder boys with very injurious effect to his interests. Some of the best left; and their parents, knowing him to be a gentleman—cruelly, certainly—did not explain the real cause, and so he let things go on as before. The worst remained; those whose friends knew that they were not likely to get on well anywhere, and perhaps would not believe their statements. They, of course, leavened the rest. The younger ones, by degrees, took up their notions and habits; and a first-rate school had not only diminished in size, but had deteriorated sadly in quality, by the time Digby went to it.He, of course, did not find this out. The state in which he found things he supposed to be inseparable from schools in general, and he was disposed to make the best of them. However, he had resolved not to give in to the bad ways of others, when he once saw that they were bad. But he had yet to learn how insensibly a person may be drawn into the bad habits, and a bad style of thinking and speaking, and may adopt the erroneous notions of people among whom he lives. Digby was in a much more perilous position than he was aware of. He was of a dauntless disposition; he had always been accustomed to rely a good deal upon himself, and he was anxious to do his duty. More than that was wanted to preserve him. He had at home a pious mother and sisters, who never failed to offer up their prayers for his safety. Surely those prayers were not uttered in vain. It would have been doing, also, great injustice to the Squire of Bloxholme to say that he forgot his son, though those who knew him best might have supposed that his prayers might have been of a somewhat inarticulate nature. Still, certainly, there was fervency and sincerity in whatever ejaculations he uttered.The subject is too serious to be touched on lightly. Only thus much may be said, that if more parents prayed for their children, and more children for their parents, the sacred ties of that relationship would not, as now is too often the case, be loosened or rudely torn asunder; and there would be more good parents and good children than are to be found.Dinner was over; the boys rushed into the playground; neither the yeast dumplings nor the salt beef stuck in their throats. Most of them were hallooing, shoving against each other, trying to trip up those nearest them, slapping each other’s backs, and, indeed, playing every conceivable trick of the sort.Digby was soon overtaken by Scarborough.“Well, jackanapes, how are you?” said the latter.Digby ran on without taking any notice of the address.“Did you hear me speak to you?” exclaimed the bully, catching Digby by the collar of his jacket.“I heard some one speak to somebody, but I could not possibly tell that you meant to say anything to me. There are big monkeys as well as little ones. You might have been wishing to say something to a fellow of your own size.”Digby had shaken himself clear of the bully, whose face was livid with anger, and stood facing him.Scarcely were the words out of Digby’s mouth, than he received several tremendous boxes on the ears. He felt a choking sensation in the throat; he had never before been struck unjustly. All the pugnacity in his disposition rose at once into his well-rounded knuckles, and springing forward before the bully had a conception of what he was about to do, he had planted two such heavy blows in his two eyes, that they flashed fire in such a way, that he could scarcely see what had become of his small opponent, while he himself absolutely reeled back with pain. When he did open his eyes, there stood Digby, his feet firmly planted on the ground, his fists clenched, his teeth firmly set, undaunted and ready to do battle, yet well knowing that he must inevitably get the worst in an encounter with so big an antagonist. He had not provoked the quarrel; he had justice on his side, and he was encouraged by the shouts of a number of boys, and cries of “Bravo, little cock!” “Well done, new boy!” “Give it the bully!” “Stand to your colours!” Digby felt like a martyr to a great cause. If Scarborough had been angry when merely spoken to, he now became furious at being thus unexpectedly bearded by so small an antagonist. If the new boy escaped without a severe punishment, he might become a most troublesome opponent in the school. He rushed at him, uttering terrific threats of vengeance, intending to seize him by the collar and to throw him down, and to bite his ears and kick him at the same time,more tyranni. Digby leaped nimbly aside, and hit his right arm a blow which made it tingle from the shoulder to the tips of the fingers. This, however, only put off the chastisement which was sure to be inflicted, where his antagonist was so vastly superior in strength.It is not necessary to repeat the abusive epithets and oaths which flew from Scarborough’s mouth. Hitting Digby a terrific blow with his left hand, which knocked off his cap, and kicking at his legs, he brought him to the ground, when seizing him by the hair, he began to knock him about most unmercifully on the head and shoulders.“Shame! shame!” cried many of the boys together; “a new fellow, and down on the ground. Shame, bully! shame!”“Why don’t some of you come and help me?” cried Digby, in the interval of the blows, and trying to get on his legs.“I will,” cried little Paul Newland, who had only just come into the playground, and had run up to see what was happening; “who’ll follow me? Farnham, you will, I’m sure.”“That I will,” cried Farnham, all the generous emotions in his heart rising up; “he stood up bravely for us younger fellows. He is a gallant little cock. To the rescue! to the rescue!”Farnham was a good-sized fellow, though young. A number of other boys, inspired by his address, joined him; and, without further concert, they made a bold dash at Scarborough, who little thought that they would really attack him. Some clung to his legs, others seized his arms, and clung round his neck and pulled him backwards, so that Digby had time to jump to his feet, and to shake himself to ascertain that no bones were broken.“Thank you, thank you,” he exclaimed: “I am not much the worse for the way that big coward behaved; but take care, he will be hurting some of you; I don’t mind if he was to set on me again; I dare say I can stand his knocking about as well as anybody.”The boys who had so gallantly come to Digby’s rescue had not thought of that, and Scarborough, struggling desperately to free himself, had thrown some of them off, and was in his fury striking, right and left, blows heavy enough to have maimed any of them for life; but at the same time he had his eye on Digby, on whom he was evidently longing to wreak his vengeance.By this time most of the boys, big and little, were drawn round the scene of the contest. Scarborough had his friends, who urged him to annihilate his small opponents, but did not think it necessary themselves to interfere. Bad as were many of them, Digby’s gallantry had been remarked by one of the elder boys in the first class, who, though not so big or so old as Scarborough, was a person not to be trifled with. His figure was light, active, well-knit, and his countenance had a mild expression, at the same time that it possessed signs of peculiar firmness and decision.Scarborough had freed himself from all those who surrounded him, except from Farnham and Newland, who were in vain trying to prevent him from once more seizing Digby, when Henry Bouverie, the boy spoken of, stepped up, and placing himself between Scarborough and Digby, exclaimed:—“You shall not touch him; while I remain at this place, I will not, if I can help it, allow so thoroughly un-English and cowardly acts to be committed. That young fellow only came yesterday, and you must needs run foul of him and half kill him with your brutality to-day. Whatever others may think, I know that the sooner you leave the school the better it will be for all of us.”Scarborough was still advancing. Bouverie lifted up his fists.“You shall light me and thrash me before you again touch that young fellow,” he exclaimed, in a voice which made the bully draw back. “Remember, Heathcote, if he strikes you, you are to come and tell me; and any of you fellows who came to Heathcote’s help are to do the same.”The bully stood irresolute. Should he at once fly at Bouverie and attack him. He was certainly stronger; he might thrash him; and if so, he should not only keep him in check, but be able to tyrannise over all the other boys as much as he liked; but then he looked at Bouverie, and observed the calm, firm attitude he had assumed. The reverse would be the case if he failed. His prestige, already having suffered a severe blow from Digby, would be for ever gone.When Bouverie had first spoken, Farnham and Newland had let him go, and though he struck at them as they did so, they escaped without much injury. Some of the bigger boys, who did not like Bouverie, shouted out:—“Knock him over; down with the radical!”But still louder rose a shout of approbation from Farnham, Newland, and the boys with more generous feelings who had sided with them, in which Digby heartily joined.“Bravo, Bouverie, gallant fellow! we’ll stick by you.”“Thanks to all those who so express themselves,” said Bouverie; “recollect, however, it is only by being kindly affectioned one to another, and by supporting each other in everything that is right, that you can hope to resist tyranny and oppression. Mark me, also, Scarborough; I have no wish to set the fellows on against you, but I detest bullying, and if you continue the system you have been pursuing, I shall do my very utmost to help the younger fellows, and to oppose you. No more shouting, pray. I’m for a game at Prisoners’ Base. Here, Farnham, you lead one side, I’ll take the other. Any fellows who will oppose bullying may join; no others, remember.”Digby was surprised at the rapid and systematic way in which the arrangements were made. Farnham was evidently pleased at being chosen by a big fellow like Bouverie to play against him. Of the mysteries of the game he himself knew nothing; still he longed to join in it in spite of his sores and aching bones. Bouverie at last looked towards him and invited him to join.“All right; I thought he would,” said Paul Newland, who was standing near.“But I have never played at it before,” said Digby.“Oh, never mind that! I’ll show you what to do; and I am certain you can run fast, and will play well,” urged Paul.“Yes, he’ll play,” he added, turning to Bouverie. “You know, Heathcote,” he continued, “you must be up to everything and ready for everything—in the way of games, I mean. When you know the ways of the school, the younger fellows will look to you as a leader. They want one, and I know that you will make a good one.”These remarks naturally could not fail to fire Digby’s ambition. He forgot all about his bruises, and ran eagerly to the spot marked out for the game. Paul explained it to him. The base was at the bottom of the playground from one side to the other. This was divided in two. The prison was at a pump which stood in the middle of the ground—a great luxury in hot weather, but a terror to the little boys in cold, for they were sometimes placed under it and unmercifully soused.“Now, you see,” said Paul, “one fellow starts out on one side, then another on the opposite, who tries to touch him. If he succeeds, the first goes to prison; but if the first gets in, the second may be touched by a third, and himself have to go to prison, and so on. The next aim is to get those on our own side out of prison. This is done by running to them and touching them, but in so doing, a fellow is liable to be touched by one of the opposite side, and have to go himself to prison. If, however, he rescues a prisoner, he may not be touched on his return to the base. To my mind, it is the best running game there is.”Digby thought so likewise, and entered with great zest into the game. He soon understood it as clearly as if he had played it all his life. Once Bouverie himself was touched, and had to go to prison. Nearly all their side were out chasing, or being chased. Digby rushed back to the base, and then, quick as lightning, started out again, and though pursued by a fast runner, he succeeded in rescuing his leader in gallant style.“Well done, new boy! well done, small one! well done, Heathcote!” was shouted by several on his side, and Digby felt very proud of his success. Whenever one of his party was taken prisoner, he was the first to dash out to his rescue; and if he saw one pursued, he was instantly in chase of the pursuer. From this time he entered warmly into all the games which were played, and was soon invariably chosen to take an active part in all those which did not require practice. Some required, however, both practice and instruction, and for those he always found ready instructors in Farnham and Paul Newland. He practised away, however, so zealously, that he very soon played, even in games of skill, almost as well as those who were teaching him. He not only listened to what they told him, but he attentively watched them and all the best players, and saw how they did things, and their various tricks and devices. He did not forget also to observe, occasionally, the bad players, that he might see how it was they managed so soon to be put out. Cricket, of course, had not yet come in; in that capital game, likewise, he was anxious to become a proficient. He had been initiated at Mr Nugent’s in single wicket, so he could bat and bowl pretty well, but he knew very little of the game at large.From the style of his previous education, he found himself also in lessons somewhat behind many boys younger than himself, though he knew a great deal more than they did of other things, and of affairs in general.However, he had no reason to complain after his measure had been taken by his schoolfellows of the position he occupied in their estimation. Whether this was for his ultimate advantage remained to be seen; one thing was certain, it demanded of him a considerable amount of temper, judgment, discretion; and not only good resolutions, but strength to keep them.

Digby had gained a great triumph—more important, probably, than he was aware of. That first night of his arrival at Grangewood had been the turning-point of his school life. Had he yielded in the first instance, been terrified by threats, lost his temper, shown the white feather in any way, he would, insensibly, have become like one of the rest—leavened with their leaven, addicted to their bad habits, a thoughtless, idle little tyrant; too likely, on entering the world, to become a useless profligate. As it was, in consequence of his conduct, he had inspired some of his new companions with admiration, and others with respect; while even those of baser nature felt that he was likely to prove a person with whom it would be disagreeable and inconvenient to contend; and so it became impressed on their minds, that it would be better to let him alone. Of course, these feelings were only shared among the boys of his room. He had still to make his way in the school. Like a knight-errant of old, there were many giants for him to overcome; many castles, surrounded by enchantments, to enter, before he could hope to establish himself on a proper footing in the school. Of course he did not think all this; he only felt that he had altogether acted in a perfectly satisfactory way, and was contented, and pretty happy. He slept soundly, but was the first to awake in the room. He jumped up, put on some of his clothes, said his prayers, and then went to the wash-hand basin, and began sousing his face away in the cold water, as was his custom.

Slowly the cold, grey light of a February morning drew on. A bell now sounded loudly through the house, to rouse the inmates from their slumbers. The other boys awoke, and lifted up their heads to see how the new boy looked by daylight. They saw him standing in his trousers and shirt, with his sleeves tucked up, his face glowing with the cold water, his hair brushed back, and scrubbing away at his hands in a basin full of lather, with an energy which showed that cold water had no terrors for him. His well-knit frame, broad chest, and muscular little arms, appeared to considerable advantage. Some of the boys, who were unable to appreciate higher qualifications, could not fail to feel respect for these; though Digby had not thought about them, nor was he aware of the strength which he possessed, which, for his size, was considerable. He brushed his hair with the same sort of energy with which he had washed his hands, and then went to the drawer which had been awarded to him, to put away his things. He was rather disgusted than amused at seeing the dawdling way in which the boys put on their clothes, and the mode in which they dabbed their faces over with the cold water, and hurriedly dipped their hands in, though some only half dried them, after all. Paul and Farnham were an exception to the rule.

“Well, Heathcote, I hope that you have slept soundly in this, to you, strange place,” said Paul, in his usual brisk tone.

“As sound as a top. It is all the same to me, when I have my head on a comfortable pillow. It takes a good deal to keep me awake,” answered Digby, in the same tone. “I sleep fast, and get it over the sooner. I hate to be long about what can be well done quickly.”

“So do I,” answered Newland. “Slow coaches are apt to break down as often as fast ones.”

Another bell now rang loudly, and the boys all hurried away downstairs to the schoolroom. Digby accompanied Paul. He felt several fellows push against his back, to throw him downstairs, but he was on his guard; and one of them, to the fellow’s surprise, he lifted up on his shoulders, and, without difficulty, carried him down to the next landing-place, where he bumped him pretty hard against the wall. Another, not seeing what had occurred, tried the same trick. Digby, putting his hands suddenly behind his back, seized him, and had carried him down, holding the boy’s arms tight, and was beginning to bump him, when he felt his own ears pulled, and a voice exclaiming—

“Vat you do dat for? Is dat de way you new boy is going to behave here?”

Digby guessed that it was Monsieur Guillaume, the French master, who was thus addressing him.

“He tried to push me downstairs, sir; and I wish to show him that two can play at most games of that sort,” answered Digby, quietly.

“Ah, I do not tink you say de truth, you,” exclaimed the French master, angrily. “He is a good boy; myprotégé; speak French well. Put him down, I say. Tommy Bray, come here; you not hurt, my poor boy?”

Digby put Tommy Bray on his feet, who accompanied Monsieur Guillaume into the schoolroom, where Paul and Digby followed.

“The Frenchman has given you a fair specimen of himself. He is the most uncertain, fickle little fellow I ever met. He bullies all the little fellows except his favourites, orprotégés, as he calls them, and makes up to the older ones, who are big enough to thrash him, if they like. He spites those who don’t learn French, because he is not paid for them. He is always trying, therefore, to get new pupils. However, I do not believe that he is really bad tempered when he has his own way. He has been soured by loss of property; and having to live out of la belle France. And do you know, Heathcote, I really do believe that an usher at a school like this, when no one is exactly master, and the big boys have it much their own way, has a good deal to put up with.”

“I should think so,” observed Digby, as they entered the schoolroom.

They went to their desks. Mr Yates read prayers, and though everybody was cold and hungry, lessons began.

Mr Tugman had not yet had time to examine Digby, so he sat at his desk reading the Swiss Family of Robinson, which he confessedly preferred to lessons. Each master had a class up before him; there were some crying; a good deal of caning on the fingers—a particularly disagreeable punishment, in cold weather especially—and a considerable amount of blundering and hesitation. A few quick runs round the playground would have saved a great deal of suffering and discontent; but Mr Sanford never went out in the morning, and it never occurred to him that the blood in his pupils’ veins would circulate more freely with a little brisk exercise, and give vivacity to their intellects.

Breakfast was at last announced by the constant sounding bell. It varied little from tea, except that those who liked bread-and-milk might have it. It was served out in large basins.

Digby, however, preferred the tea. He kept his eye sharply on his mug, to see that it was not tampered with. He observed Tommy Bray take a pinch of salt, and then ask for a cup of tea, though he had a basin of bread-and-milk before him.

“Tommy Bray,” cried Digby, in an undertone, “you had better not. Susan, bring me that mug of tea, please. He does not want it.”

Susan, remembering John Pratt’s half sovereign, brought Digby the tea intact; and Tommy was disappointed of his trick.

Several other boys, however, commenced their jokes on the new comer as soon as their spirits had revived a little, by their appetites being satisfied; but none of those in his room attempted anything of the sort; and it soon became whispered about that the new boy was a plucky little cock, and that his arm had a great lump of muscle in it, as big almost as Scarborough’s, which he was so fond of exhibiting.

After breakfast, the boys went into the playground. It was cold enough to make everybody wish to run about as much as they could. Hoops were the order of the day; and Farnham came up and asked Digby if he had got a hoop.

“No; I never trundled one in my life, but I will try,” he answered. “I did not know that gentlemen used them. I have only seen the boys in the streets at Osberton play with them.”

Farnham thought that he was supercilious in his remark. “Oh, then, I suppose you would not condescend to trundle a hoop?” he exclaimed, turning away.

“But I would though, gladly,” cried Digby; “if you can lend me one, and just show me the knack of the thing, I shall like it very much.”

Farnham was satisfied, and brought him a good strong hoop which he had wished to offer him. His first attempts were not very successful; but he saw how Farnham pressed the stick against the hoop rather than beat it, and kept his eye on it and not on his stick, watching every deviation from the direct line, so he was soon able to drive it along at a fair rate, with tolerable satisfaction to himself.

Soon after returning into school, Mr Tugman called him up to undergo the threatened examination. It was not very severe, and he managed to get through it pretty well. He had a vague suspicion, indeed, that the usher himself was not an over-ripe scholar. He found afterwards that his suspicions were correct, and that poor Mr Tugman had to get up every night the lessons he had to hear his head class the following day. No wonder that his temper was not over-sweet, and that he was awfully afraid of the big boys, lest they should find out how much more they knew than he did. He was placed in Paul Newland’s class, but as it was Saturday he did not go up with it; so that, with Paul’s assistance, he was able to prepare his lessons for Monday. He determined to do his best, and set to work to get them up thoroughly.

Boys in a private school have an advantage over those at a public one. If they wish to study during school hours they can do so, under the eye of the masters, without any fear of interruption. In a public one, excellent as the system of most of the great ones is, the boys, working in their own studies with one or two companions only, are liable to the practical jokes and tricks of various sorts of the idly disposed, who may have resolved to prevent them altogether from getting up their lessons, and, of course, then it is very difficult work to do so. School was over at half-past twelve, and then for a short time they all rushed into the playground.

Spiller was on the watch for Digby at the door. “I am glad to find you, Heathcote,” he said, in a soft, quiet voice. “You remember what I told you about your play-box last night. If you come with me I will show you where to put it, and what to do with the things you have got.”

“Shall I call him spongy to his face, and so show him that I know his character?” thought Digby. “No; I don’t like to do that, it’s scarcely right.—Thank you, Spiller,” he said aloud, “I am not certain that I shall unpack my things to-day. I have nothing that won’t keep, I believe; and I want to become better acquainted with fellows before I cut up my cake.”

This was a poser for Spiller, who had never before received such an answer. He looked very hard at Digby, to try and find out whether he knew anything about his character; but Digby had said simply what he had intended to do, and Spiller was completely puzzled. Still he was determined to try again. “Most fellows like to open their boxes at once, to give away some of the good things they have got, to prove their generosity,” he observed. “A fellow can’t expect to have friends unless he does something to win them, you know. I only tell you this as a hint, just that you may know how to act.”

“I don’t fancy buying friends in that way,” answered Digby, laughing; “I should not trust much to a fellow who said he was my friend for a piece of cake or a spoonful of jam. If anybody else offered him a bigger piece, or more jam, he would very quickly leave me. I like fellows not for what they have got, but for what they are; and I want to be liked for the same reason myself.”

“Oh, I see that you are a radical,” said Spiller, sneeringly; “those are regular chartists’ sentiments; but they won’t go down with me, let me tell you.”

Digby burst out into a regular fit of laughter.

“Well, I never should have supposed that it could be considered radical to like a fellow with a number of good qualities who was poor, in preference to a bad fellow who happened to be rich. I must repeat it, that I hope to find friends among the boys here, whom I shall like for their good qualities.”

“As you please,” remarked Spiller; “of course I can’t force you to do as I recommend; but if, on thinking the matter over, you change your mind, come to me and I will help you. Those are my principles; I’m not ashamed of them, let me tell you.”

What Spiller meant by his principles, Digby could not tell. Perhaps he might have explained more clearly, but he saw Paul Newland approaching, and he knew that he must abandon his designs for the present on Digby’s strong box.

Digby told Paul how he had managed Spiller.

“Capital,” exclaimed Paul. “I wish that we could get rid of all the disagreeable fellows in the school as easily as you have, for the present, of Spiller; but I want to tell you to be on your guard against that big bully, Scarborough. The fellows were talking about you just now, and mentioning the plucky way in which you behaved last night; instead of saying, as I am sure he ought, that you acted very rightly, he sneered and vowed that he would very soon take the pride out of you.”

“Let him try, if he wishes,” answered Digby, not particularly alarmed, for he never had been imbued with any especial dread of big fellows; his fearlessness, however, in reality, arose from his want of experience of the evil they had the power of inflicting; “if he knocks my nose off, he certainly will prevent me from feeling proud of my face, but otherwise, I don’t see how he can very well alter my character.”

Paul thought Digby a perfect hero, and wished for the time when he would be big enough to be cock of the school. While they were speaking, Scarborough lounged by with his hand on the shoulder of another fellow, very much of his own character. There is a great similarity in the look of all bullies, not so much in figure as in expression of countenance; some are big, burly fellows, like Scarborough, others are tall and thin. Of course, they all have more or less physical strength; some are dark and some are fair, but they one and all have an inexpressible resemblance to each other. Scarborough passed close to Digby, and as he did so he put out his foot, and tried to trip him up; but Digby observed the action, and, guessing the intention, jumped off the ground, and escaped even being touched. He felt inclined to make some remark, but he restrained his temper, and left the bully without any excuse for picking a quarrel with him. Scarborough strolled to the end of the playground, and when he came back, he stopped, and looking hard at Digby, said—

“I suppose you are the new fellow who is going to do such mighty things in the school—well, I want you to understand that I shall not allow you to play any of your tricks with me; remember that.”

Digby looked at the bully very steadily; he felt that he ought to answer him, if he could do so, quietly, so he said—

“I don’t know of any tricks which I wish to play; but if you will just tell me what you don’t like of what I have done, or have been said to have done, I will do my best not to offend you.”

“It’s very well for you to talk in that way,” said the bully, disarmed for the moment; for even he could not venture to thrash a fellow without some pretext; “just remember to keep up to it, or you’ll find yourself in the wrong box with me, my lad, that’s all.”

With this ambiguous threat, the bully moved on.

“Well done again,” exclaimed little Paul, who had been trembling with alarm all the time for the result of the meeting; “he won’t let you off without many another attack; but manage him as you have already done, and I do not think that he will annoy you much.”

The moment the dinner-bell rang, there was another general rush into the dining-room. This was that the first comers might secure the best pieces of bread and mugs of beer, arranged up and down the tables. Digby found only half a mugful of beer and a very small piece of bread remaining to his share; but he was not at all put out, and made no remark, resolving another day to be earlier in the field.

Grangewood School had existed for a number of years, and things were carried on there very much in the old-fashioned style in most respects. Mr Sanford was a very good scholar and a gentleman, but he had no talent for the economical arrangements of a school. It is a favourite saying with some people, that boys are better fed than taught. He had resolved that, as far as he had the power, they should be well taught; but it did not occur to him, that it was incumbent on him to see that they were well fed and well looked after.

Mrs Pike was, fortunately for him, a conscientious person; but her notions were somewhat antiquated. She wished to attend to his interests, and she was not aware that they and those of the boys were identical; that is to say, that if the boys were thoroughly looked after, well fed as well as well taught, brought up as Christians and gentlemen, the school would flourish; and that if the boys were badly and coarsely fed and treated, and neglected, the school would go down-hill.

Digby was very hungry; the novelty of his position did not spoil his appetite. He turned his head in the direction of the table at which Mrs Pike, supported by Mr Yates, usually sat to superintend the serving out of provender, to see what was coming. Some huge dishes piled up with large white balls were brought in, and plates, containing half of one of the balls, were in succession thumped down before each of the boys. Digby turned over the mass with his fork to discover the contents, but finding nothing but a mass of dough and a strong smell of beer, he put it down; and when one of the maid-servants came by, held out his plate, and quietly said, that he would rather have meat before pudding. The maid-servant, who was not Susan, or she might have whispered a bit of good advice, seized his plate, and going up with it to Mrs Pike, said in a loud voice, so that all might hear:—

“The new boy, Master Digby Heathcote, marm, says that he likes meat before pudding.”

Mrs Pike cast a withering glance at Digby; such a piece of insubordination had not been met with for a long time to her authority.

“We here give pudding before meat, young gentleman, if it suits us,” she exclaimed, in a dictatorial tone; “if you do not choose to eat such excellent pudding as this is, you can have no meat. Take it back to him, Jane.”

Again the plate was placed before him.

“You had better eat it,” whispered Paul Newland. “It is very good yeast dumpling, and you will like it when you are accustomed to it.”

“With all my heart,” answered Digby, laughing. “I did not want to make such a fuss about the matter. I like duff very well, only I really thought that they had forgotten to put the meat on my plate.”

“Don’t touch the stuff, Heathcote, take my advice,” exclaimed Spiller, in a low tone, across the table. “You have got plenty of good things in your box to feed on, I dare say. All new fellows have; and there is nothing like holding out against injustice.”

“Thank you,” said Digby, pretty well guessing Spiller’s drift. “I had rather not lose my dinner. Very good stuff, though; capital duff; a little sugar and wine would make it perfect.”

He ate it all up.

“Here, Jane,” he exclaimed, holding out his plate; “say that I find it very good, and should like some more.”

Jane, who was pretty well up to the tricks young gentlemen were capable of playing, looked suspiciously at his pockets, and then under the table, to ascertain whether he really had eaten up the dumpling; but even she was assured by his ingenuous countenance, and so she went up to the head table, and said that Master Digby Heathcote liked the yeast dumpling and wanted some more.

Mrs Pike looked, also, very suspiciously at Digby.

“I’ll give him some,” said Mr Yates, who was assisting in serving out the provisions.

Mrs Pike, with feminine tact, would have given a small piece, not to disgust him; but he, whether with malice or from thoughtlessness, put very nearly a whole one on the plate. Some brown sugar, however, was added by Susan on its way to Digby; and when he got it, he liked the taste so much, that although not aware that Mrs Pike’s sharp eyes were on him, he sat manfully to work; and yeast dumpling being of a very compressible nature, he demolished the whole mass in a very short time.

It did occur to Mrs Pike’s economical mind that it was fortunate the new boy liked pudding, or he would be very expensive to feed.

Digby felt rather thirsty, so he drank up his beer. That was rather sour; but he was not easily put out, and he felt already very much as if he had dined. When a huge dish of salt beef, with carrots and turnips, did come, he could do but little justice to it; but he was grateful to Mrs Pike’s delicate attention, when, in a tone of which he did not discover the sarcasm, she pressed him to take a second helping.

He begged to have some more beer, though; but was told that one cupful was the allowance, and so had to quench his thirst with water.

“We have pudding first only twice in the week,” observed Paul. “I have got accustomed to it, and rather like the variety, though I thought it odd at first. One day we have yeast, and another suet-dumpling. Then two days we generally have pease-soup, or some fellows do call it pease-porridge. It is rather thick, to be sure, and on those days we have porter instead of beer. I seldom after it have an appetite, even for Irish-stew or toad-in-the-hole. On Wednesdays, Mrs Pike lets a cake-man come just before dinner with gingerbread and lollipops; and many fellows would rather spend their money on his grub than in any other way; and they are not so hungry on that day, and don’t care so much what they have. We call that scrap-and-pudding day, because we have hashes first and rice-dumplings afterwards. Mrs Pike, on that day, always talks about the immense sum she spends on currants and other groceries for the school.”

However, enough about eating; Paul and Digby were philosophers in their way, and had no wish to make grievances out of trifles.

Mr Sanford himself would have been horrified had he known the light in which the domestic arrangements of his establishment were regarded; and it told among the elder boys with very injurious effect to his interests. Some of the best left; and their parents, knowing him to be a gentleman—cruelly, certainly—did not explain the real cause, and so he let things go on as before. The worst remained; those whose friends knew that they were not likely to get on well anywhere, and perhaps would not believe their statements. They, of course, leavened the rest. The younger ones, by degrees, took up their notions and habits; and a first-rate school had not only diminished in size, but had deteriorated sadly in quality, by the time Digby went to it.

He, of course, did not find this out. The state in which he found things he supposed to be inseparable from schools in general, and he was disposed to make the best of them. However, he had resolved not to give in to the bad ways of others, when he once saw that they were bad. But he had yet to learn how insensibly a person may be drawn into the bad habits, and a bad style of thinking and speaking, and may adopt the erroneous notions of people among whom he lives. Digby was in a much more perilous position than he was aware of. He was of a dauntless disposition; he had always been accustomed to rely a good deal upon himself, and he was anxious to do his duty. More than that was wanted to preserve him. He had at home a pious mother and sisters, who never failed to offer up their prayers for his safety. Surely those prayers were not uttered in vain. It would have been doing, also, great injustice to the Squire of Bloxholme to say that he forgot his son, though those who knew him best might have supposed that his prayers might have been of a somewhat inarticulate nature. Still, certainly, there was fervency and sincerity in whatever ejaculations he uttered.

The subject is too serious to be touched on lightly. Only thus much may be said, that if more parents prayed for their children, and more children for their parents, the sacred ties of that relationship would not, as now is too often the case, be loosened or rudely torn asunder; and there would be more good parents and good children than are to be found.

Dinner was over; the boys rushed into the playground; neither the yeast dumplings nor the salt beef stuck in their throats. Most of them were hallooing, shoving against each other, trying to trip up those nearest them, slapping each other’s backs, and, indeed, playing every conceivable trick of the sort.

Digby was soon overtaken by Scarborough.

“Well, jackanapes, how are you?” said the latter.

Digby ran on without taking any notice of the address.

“Did you hear me speak to you?” exclaimed the bully, catching Digby by the collar of his jacket.

“I heard some one speak to somebody, but I could not possibly tell that you meant to say anything to me. There are big monkeys as well as little ones. You might have been wishing to say something to a fellow of your own size.”

Digby had shaken himself clear of the bully, whose face was livid with anger, and stood facing him.

Scarcely were the words out of Digby’s mouth, than he received several tremendous boxes on the ears. He felt a choking sensation in the throat; he had never before been struck unjustly. All the pugnacity in his disposition rose at once into his well-rounded knuckles, and springing forward before the bully had a conception of what he was about to do, he had planted two such heavy blows in his two eyes, that they flashed fire in such a way, that he could scarcely see what had become of his small opponent, while he himself absolutely reeled back with pain. When he did open his eyes, there stood Digby, his feet firmly planted on the ground, his fists clenched, his teeth firmly set, undaunted and ready to do battle, yet well knowing that he must inevitably get the worst in an encounter with so big an antagonist. He had not provoked the quarrel; he had justice on his side, and he was encouraged by the shouts of a number of boys, and cries of “Bravo, little cock!” “Well done, new boy!” “Give it the bully!” “Stand to your colours!” Digby felt like a martyr to a great cause. If Scarborough had been angry when merely spoken to, he now became furious at being thus unexpectedly bearded by so small an antagonist. If the new boy escaped without a severe punishment, he might become a most troublesome opponent in the school. He rushed at him, uttering terrific threats of vengeance, intending to seize him by the collar and to throw him down, and to bite his ears and kick him at the same time,more tyranni. Digby leaped nimbly aside, and hit his right arm a blow which made it tingle from the shoulder to the tips of the fingers. This, however, only put off the chastisement which was sure to be inflicted, where his antagonist was so vastly superior in strength.

It is not necessary to repeat the abusive epithets and oaths which flew from Scarborough’s mouth. Hitting Digby a terrific blow with his left hand, which knocked off his cap, and kicking at his legs, he brought him to the ground, when seizing him by the hair, he began to knock him about most unmercifully on the head and shoulders.

“Shame! shame!” cried many of the boys together; “a new fellow, and down on the ground. Shame, bully! shame!”

“Why don’t some of you come and help me?” cried Digby, in the interval of the blows, and trying to get on his legs.

“I will,” cried little Paul Newland, who had only just come into the playground, and had run up to see what was happening; “who’ll follow me? Farnham, you will, I’m sure.”

“That I will,” cried Farnham, all the generous emotions in his heart rising up; “he stood up bravely for us younger fellows. He is a gallant little cock. To the rescue! to the rescue!”

Farnham was a good-sized fellow, though young. A number of other boys, inspired by his address, joined him; and, without further concert, they made a bold dash at Scarborough, who little thought that they would really attack him. Some clung to his legs, others seized his arms, and clung round his neck and pulled him backwards, so that Digby had time to jump to his feet, and to shake himself to ascertain that no bones were broken.

“Thank you, thank you,” he exclaimed: “I am not much the worse for the way that big coward behaved; but take care, he will be hurting some of you; I don’t mind if he was to set on me again; I dare say I can stand his knocking about as well as anybody.”

The boys who had so gallantly come to Digby’s rescue had not thought of that, and Scarborough, struggling desperately to free himself, had thrown some of them off, and was in his fury striking, right and left, blows heavy enough to have maimed any of them for life; but at the same time he had his eye on Digby, on whom he was evidently longing to wreak his vengeance.

By this time most of the boys, big and little, were drawn round the scene of the contest. Scarborough had his friends, who urged him to annihilate his small opponents, but did not think it necessary themselves to interfere. Bad as were many of them, Digby’s gallantry had been remarked by one of the elder boys in the first class, who, though not so big or so old as Scarborough, was a person not to be trifled with. His figure was light, active, well-knit, and his countenance had a mild expression, at the same time that it possessed signs of peculiar firmness and decision.

Scarborough had freed himself from all those who surrounded him, except from Farnham and Newland, who were in vain trying to prevent him from once more seizing Digby, when Henry Bouverie, the boy spoken of, stepped up, and placing himself between Scarborough and Digby, exclaimed:—

“You shall not touch him; while I remain at this place, I will not, if I can help it, allow so thoroughly un-English and cowardly acts to be committed. That young fellow only came yesterday, and you must needs run foul of him and half kill him with your brutality to-day. Whatever others may think, I know that the sooner you leave the school the better it will be for all of us.”

Scarborough was still advancing. Bouverie lifted up his fists.

“You shall light me and thrash me before you again touch that young fellow,” he exclaimed, in a voice which made the bully draw back. “Remember, Heathcote, if he strikes you, you are to come and tell me; and any of you fellows who came to Heathcote’s help are to do the same.”

The bully stood irresolute. Should he at once fly at Bouverie and attack him. He was certainly stronger; he might thrash him; and if so, he should not only keep him in check, but be able to tyrannise over all the other boys as much as he liked; but then he looked at Bouverie, and observed the calm, firm attitude he had assumed. The reverse would be the case if he failed. His prestige, already having suffered a severe blow from Digby, would be for ever gone.

When Bouverie had first spoken, Farnham and Newland had let him go, and though he struck at them as they did so, they escaped without much injury. Some of the bigger boys, who did not like Bouverie, shouted out:—

“Knock him over; down with the radical!”

But still louder rose a shout of approbation from Farnham, Newland, and the boys with more generous feelings who had sided with them, in which Digby heartily joined.

“Bravo, Bouverie, gallant fellow! we’ll stick by you.”

“Thanks to all those who so express themselves,” said Bouverie; “recollect, however, it is only by being kindly affectioned one to another, and by supporting each other in everything that is right, that you can hope to resist tyranny and oppression. Mark me, also, Scarborough; I have no wish to set the fellows on against you, but I detest bullying, and if you continue the system you have been pursuing, I shall do my very utmost to help the younger fellows, and to oppose you. No more shouting, pray. I’m for a game at Prisoners’ Base. Here, Farnham, you lead one side, I’ll take the other. Any fellows who will oppose bullying may join; no others, remember.”

Digby was surprised at the rapid and systematic way in which the arrangements were made. Farnham was evidently pleased at being chosen by a big fellow like Bouverie to play against him. Of the mysteries of the game he himself knew nothing; still he longed to join in it in spite of his sores and aching bones. Bouverie at last looked towards him and invited him to join.

“All right; I thought he would,” said Paul Newland, who was standing near.

“But I have never played at it before,” said Digby.

“Oh, never mind that! I’ll show you what to do; and I am certain you can run fast, and will play well,” urged Paul.

“Yes, he’ll play,” he added, turning to Bouverie. “You know, Heathcote,” he continued, “you must be up to everything and ready for everything—in the way of games, I mean. When you know the ways of the school, the younger fellows will look to you as a leader. They want one, and I know that you will make a good one.”

These remarks naturally could not fail to fire Digby’s ambition. He forgot all about his bruises, and ran eagerly to the spot marked out for the game. Paul explained it to him. The base was at the bottom of the playground from one side to the other. This was divided in two. The prison was at a pump which stood in the middle of the ground—a great luxury in hot weather, but a terror to the little boys in cold, for they were sometimes placed under it and unmercifully soused.

“Now, you see,” said Paul, “one fellow starts out on one side, then another on the opposite, who tries to touch him. If he succeeds, the first goes to prison; but if the first gets in, the second may be touched by a third, and himself have to go to prison, and so on. The next aim is to get those on our own side out of prison. This is done by running to them and touching them, but in so doing, a fellow is liable to be touched by one of the opposite side, and have to go himself to prison. If, however, he rescues a prisoner, he may not be touched on his return to the base. To my mind, it is the best running game there is.”

Digby thought so likewise, and entered with great zest into the game. He soon understood it as clearly as if he had played it all his life. Once Bouverie himself was touched, and had to go to prison. Nearly all their side were out chasing, or being chased. Digby rushed back to the base, and then, quick as lightning, started out again, and though pursued by a fast runner, he succeeded in rescuing his leader in gallant style.

“Well done, new boy! well done, small one! well done, Heathcote!” was shouted by several on his side, and Digby felt very proud of his success. Whenever one of his party was taken prisoner, he was the first to dash out to his rescue; and if he saw one pursued, he was instantly in chase of the pursuer. From this time he entered warmly into all the games which were played, and was soon invariably chosen to take an active part in all those which did not require practice. Some required, however, both practice and instruction, and for those he always found ready instructors in Farnham and Paul Newland. He practised away, however, so zealously, that he very soon played, even in games of skill, almost as well as those who were teaching him. He not only listened to what they told him, but he attentively watched them and all the best players, and saw how they did things, and their various tricks and devices. He did not forget also to observe, occasionally, the bad players, that he might see how it was they managed so soon to be put out. Cricket, of course, had not yet come in; in that capital game, likewise, he was anxious to become a proficient. He had been initiated at Mr Nugent’s in single wicket, so he could bat and bowl pretty well, but he knew very little of the game at large.

From the style of his previous education, he found himself also in lessons somewhat behind many boys younger than himself, though he knew a great deal more than they did of other things, and of affairs in general.

However, he had no reason to complain after his measure had been taken by his schoolfellows of the position he occupied in their estimation. Whether this was for his ultimate advantage remained to be seen; one thing was certain, it demanded of him a considerable amount of temper, judgment, discretion; and not only good resolutions, but strength to keep them.

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