ugh lot till you get to know them. Your first
term, isn't it?"

The boy looked his gratitude as Paul took him by the arm.

"Yes; my first term," he said.

"Do you know anybody at the school?"

"Nobody. I'm quite a stranger."

He spoke with a foreign accent, and Paul wondered who he could be. At
the same time he could not help pitying the solitary boy. He would have
rather a sorry time of it amongst the other "Gargoyles."

"Well, youngster"--a junior was always "a youngster" in the eyes of his
senior--"if I can be of help to you at any time, don't be afraid to come
to me. What is your name?"

"Hibbert--Tim Hibbert. And--and if you don't mind, I'd like to know
yours?"

Paul told him his name, and they entered the grounds together. A number
of the boys had already arrived. Some stood in small groups, talking and
laughing about incidents that had happened during the vacation. Others
were playing at leapfrog, or chasing each other from pillar to post.

Those nearest to the gates paused in their games as Paul entered, and
stared at the hunchback. Newall, a senior, said something about
"Percival and his camel." The remark was as cruel as offensive. Paul did
not mind for himself, but he did for his companion. He glanced at
Hibbert, and again noticed the delicate colouring mount to the pale
cheek. He had evidently caught the sense of Newall's remark, too.

"They have rough speech as well as rough ways, haven't they?" the boy
remarked quietly.

"Some of them--yes; but you mustn't mind that. They're not such a bad
lot, take them altogether."

Newall was one of the most arrogant boys at Garside. He had a rough
tongue, and loved to domineer. You will always find your Newalls in
every public school, no matter where it be. They are terrors to the
nervous, sensitive boy; but they always succeed in attracting to
themselves followers, lads of like dispositions to themselves.

Paul knew well enough that Newall intended the remark for his benefit,
but he paid no heed to it. He looked round the ground in the hope of
finding Stanley Moncrief, but saw nothing of him.

"Perhaps he's gone to meet that young cousin of his," he
said to himself, as his mind went back to Oakville, and the
never-to-be-forgotten evening on which he had met Harry Moncrief.
Hibbert wished to be taken to Mr. Weevil the science master, as he was
to receive his introduction to the school through that gentleman.

Paul accordingly took him to Mr. Weevil's