"This island now--you remember the time,
Brown, when it was laid out in small gardens, and cultivated by
frost-bitten fags in February and March?"

"Of course I do," said Tom; "didn't I hate spending two hours in the
afternoon grubbing in the tough dirt with the stump of a fives bat? But
turf-cart was good fun enough."

"I dare say it was, but it was always leading to fights with the
townspeople; and then the stealing flowers out of all the gardens in
Rugby for the Easter show was abominable."

"Well, so it was," said Tom, looking down, "but we fags couldn't help
ourselves. But what has that to do with the Doctor's ruling?"

"A great deal, I think," said the master; "what brought island-fagging
to an end?"

"Why, the Easter speeches were put off till midsummer," said Tom, "and
the sixth had the gymnastic poles put up here."

"Well, and who changed the time of the speeches, and put the idea of
gymnastic poles into the heads of their worships the sixth form?" said
the master.

"The Doctor, I suppose," said Tom. "I never thought of that."

"Of course you didn't," said the master, "or else, fag as you were,
you would have shouted with the whole school against putting down old
customs. And that's the way that all the Doctor's reforms have been
carried out when he has been left to himself--quietly and naturally,
putting a good thing in the place of a bad, and letting the bad die out;
no wavering, and no hurry--the best thing that could be done for the
time being, and patience for the rest."

"Just Tom's own way," chimed in Arthur, nudging Tom with his
elbow--"driving a nail where it will go;" to which allusion Tom answered
by a sly kick.

"Exactly so," said the master, innocent of the allusion and by-play.

Meantime Jack Raggles, with his sleeves tucked up above his great brown
elbows, scorning pads and gloves, has presented himself at the wicket;
and having run one for a forward drive of Johnson's, is about to receive
his first ball. There are only twenty-four runs to make, and four
wickets to go down--a winning match if they play decently steady. The
ball is a very swift one, and rises fast, catching Jack on the outside
of the thigh, and bounding away as if from india-rubber, while they
run two for a leg-bye amidst great applause and shouts from Jack's many
admirers. The next ball is a beautifully-pitched ball for the outer
stump, which the reckless and unfeeling Jack catches hold of, and hits
right round to l