lowance in his study
or the fifth-form room), cleaning candlesticks and putting in new
candles, toasting cheese, bottling beer, and carrying messages about the
house; and Tom, in the first blush of his hero-worship, felt it a high
privilege to receive orders from and be the bearer of the supper of old
Brooke. And besides this night-work, each prepostor had three or four
fags specially allotted to him, of whom he was supposed to be the guide,
philosopher, and friend, and who in return for these good offices had to
clean out his study every morning by turns, directly after first lesson
and before he returned from breakfast. And the pleasure of seeing the
great men's studies, and looking at their pictures, and peeping into
their books, made Tom a ready substitute for any boy who was too lazy to
do his own work. And so he soon gained the character of a good-natured,
willing fellow, who was ready to do a turn for any one.

In all the games, too, he joined with all his heart, and soon became
well versed in all the mysteries of football, by continual practice at
the School-house little-side, which played daily.

The only incident worth recording here, however, was his first run at
hare-and-hounds. On the last Tuesday but one of the half-year he was
passing through the hall after dinner, when he was hailed with shouts
from Tadpole and several other fags seated at one of the long tables,
the chorus of which was, "Come and help us tear up scent."

Tom approached the table in obedience to the mysterious summons, always
ready to help, and found the party engaged in tearing up old newspapers,
copy-books, and magazines, into small pieces, with which they were
filling four large canvas bags.

"It's the turn of our house to find scent for big-side hare-and-hounds,"
exclaimed Tadpole. "Tear away; there's no time to lose before
calling-over."

"I think it's a great shame," said another small boy, "to have such a
hard run for the last day."

"Which run is it?" said Tadpole.

"Oh, the Barby run, I hear," answered the other; "nine miles at least,
and hard ground; no chance of getting in at the finish, unless you're a
first-rate scud."

"Well, I'm going to have a try," said Tadpole; "it's the last run of the
half, and if a fellow gets in at the end big-side stands ale and bread
and cheese and a bowl of punch; and the Cock's such a famous place for
ale."

"I should like to try too," said Tom.

"Well, then, leave your waistcoat be