ow old are you? I'm fifteen."

"I'm only going in fourteen," said Tom. "But I thrashed all the
fellows at Jacobs'--that's where I was before I came here. And I beat
'em all at bandy and climbing. And I wish Mr. Stelling would let us go
fishing. I could show you how to fish. You could fish, couldn't you?
It's only standing, and sitting still, you know."

Philip winced under this allusion to his unfitness for active sports,
and he answered almost crossly,--

"I can't bear fishing. I think people look like fools sitting watching
a line hour after hour, or else throwing and throwing, and catching
nothing."

"Ah, but you wouldn't say they looked like fools when they landed a big
pike, I can tell you," said Tom. Wakem's son, it was plain, had his
disagreeable points, and must be kept in due check.

Chapter XII.

THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON.

As time went on Philip and Tom found many common interests, and became,
on the whole, good comrades; but they had occasional tiffs, as was to
be expected, and at one time had a serious difference which promised to
be final.

This occurred shortly before Maggie's second visit to Tom. She was
going to a boarding school with Lucy, and wished to see Tom before
setting out.

When Maggie came, she could not help looking with growing interest at
the new schoolfellow, although he was the son of that wicked Lawyer
Wakem who made her father so angry. She had arrived in the middle of
school hours, and had sat by while Philip went through his lessons with
Mr. Stelling.

Tom, some weeks before, had sent her word that Philip knew no end of
stories--not stupid stories like hers; and she was convinced now that
he must be very clever. She hoped he would think her rather clever too
when she came to talk to him.

"I think Philip Wakem seems a nice boy, Tom," she said, when they went
out of the study together into the garden. "He couldn't choose his
father, you know; and I've read of very bad men who had good sons, as
well as good parents who had bad children. And if Philip is good, I
think we ought to be the more sorry for him because his father is not a
good man. You like him, don't you?"

"Oh, he's a queer fellow," said Tom curtly, "and he's as sulky as can
be with me, because I told him one day his father was a rogue. And I'd
a right to tell him so, for it was true; and he began it, with calling
me names. But you stop here by yourself a bit, Magsie, will you?
I've got so