owever, when Dr. Johnston, leaving his
desk, came down to meet Mr. Lloyd, and as he passed between the lines,
every head was bent as busily over the book or slate before it, as
though its attention had never been distracted.

Considering that Dr. Johnston was really a small, slight man, it was
surprising what an idea of stately dignity his appearance conveyed. He
could hardly have impressed Bert with a deeper feeling of respect from
the outset, if he had been seven feet high, instead of only a little
more than five. He was a clergyman of the Episcopal Church, and wore at
all times a long black gown, reaching nearly to his ankles, which set
off to the best advantage the spare, straight figure, and strong dark
face. The habitual expression of that face when in repose was of
thoughtful severity, and yet if one did but scan it closely enough, the
stern mouth was seen to have a downward turn at its corners that hinted
at a vein of humour lying hid somewhere. The hint was well-sustained,
for underneath all his sternness and severity the doctor concealed a
playful humour, that at times came to the surface, and gratefully
relieved his ordinary grimness.

As he walked down from his desk to meet Mr. Lloyd, he looked very
pleasant indeed; and Bert felt his nervousness a little calmed as,
holding out his thin, white and yet muscular hand, Dr. Johnston said,
cordially:

"Good-morning, Mr. Lloyd. I presume these are the two boys you spoke to
me about."

"They are, Dr. Johnston," Mr. Lloyd replied. "I brought them in good
time so that they might learn as much as possible about the ways of the
school the first day."

"You did well, Mr. Lloyd. It is important to have a good beginning in
everything that is worth doing," said the doctor; then, turning to
Bert, he slipped his hand under his chin, and lifting his head so that
he might look him full in the face, added, with a smile, "I need hardly
ask which of these boys is yours, for this one betrays his paternity in
every feature."

"You have hit the mark, doctor," said Mr. Lloyd, smiling in his turn.
"This is my son Cuthbert, at your service, and this is Frank Bowser, his
inseparable companion."

"Quite a case of Damon and Pythias, eh?" said the doctor, whose devotion
to the classics was such that his one great regret was that he had not
lived in the time of Horace.

"Yes, something of the kind," rejoined Mr. Lloyd; "and I would be very
glad if you could manage to let them sit