he had left. And, as he did so, his eyes
unconsciously filled with tears, and he felt as if he would give
anything to escape from Saint Dominic's.

At this moment the door opened and a small boy entered.

He did not seem to expect to find any one in the room, for he uttered a
hurried "Hullo!" as he caught sight of Stephen.

Stephen quickly dashed away a tear and looked up.

"Where's Greenfield?" demanded the small boy.

"He's in school," replied Stephen.

"Hullo! what are you blubbering at?" cried the small boy, growing very
bold and patronising all of a sudden, "eh?"

Stephen did not answer this home question.

"I suppose you are a new kid, just left your mammy?" observed the other,
with the air of a man of forty; "what's your name, young 'un?"

"Stephen Greenfield."

"Oh, my! is it? What form are you in?"

"I don't know yet."

"Haven't you been examined?"

"No, not yet."

"Oh, of course; old Senior's away. Never mind, you'll catch it
to-morrow, blub-baby!"

This last epithet was thrown in in such a very gratuitous and offensive
way, that Stephen did not exactly like it.

The small youth, however, finding himself in a bantering mood, pursued
his questions with increasing venom.

"I suppose they call you Steenie at home?" he observed, with a sneer
that was meant to be quite annihilating.

"No, they don't," replied Stephen; "mother calls me Steevie."

"Oh, Steevie, does she? Well, Steevie, were you ever licked over the
knuckles with a ruler?"

"No," replied Stephen; "why?"

"Because you will be--I know who'll do it, too, and kick you on the
shins, too, if you're cheeky!"

Stephen was quite at a loss whether to receive this piece of news in the
light of information or a threat. He was inclined to believe it the
latter; and as he was a rash youth, he somewhat tartly replied, "_You_
won't!"

The small boy looked astounded--not that he ever contemplated attempting
the chastisement about which he had talked; but the idea of a new boy
defying _him_, one of the chosen leaders of the Tadpoles, who had been
at Saint Dominic's two years, was amazing. He glared at the rash
Stephen for half a minute, and then broke out, "Won't I? that's all! you
see, you pretty little blubber boy! Yow-ow-ow! little sneak! why don't
you cut behind your mammy's skirt, if you're afraid? I would cry if I
were you. Where's his bottle? Poor infant! Yow-ow-boo-boo!"

This tornado, delivered with increasing veheme