rooms. He was fortunate enough
to find the master in. He was a sallow-complexioned man, with thin,
clean-shaven lips. He had a restless, hungry-looking pair of eyes, which
went up quickly to Paul as he entered the room.

"What is it, Percival?"

"I've brought along a new boy, sir--Hibbert."

"Hibbert?" Mr. Weevil at once rose from his seat, and eyed the boy
keenly; then his hand went out to the lad: "Welcome to Garside. You can
leave us, Percival."

Thus summarily dismissed, Paul went out, leaving Hibbert and the science
master together. It seemed as though the master were favourably
impressed with the new boy--in spite of the fact that he was a
hunchback.

"Bravo, Weevil! That's a point in your favour, at any rate. I didn't
think that you had much pity for any one. Poor little chap!"

His heart went out in sympathy to the little hunchback. What a shadow
his deformity must cast upon his life?

"They say that hunchbacks are spiteful, and I don't wonder at it. But
Hibbert doesn't seem a spiteful sort of fellow. Where did he pick up
that foreign accent, I wonder?"

As he thought of him, he could not help thinking how thankful he ought
to be to God that he was healthy and straight of limb. It was not till
he came in contact with poor, deformed creatures like Tim Hibbert that
he understood God's goodness to himself.

"Not more than others I deserve,
Yet Thou hast given me more,"

he said softly to himself as he returned to the ground.

He had not gone far before he saw Stanley Moncrief coming towards him.
He was about Paul's age and height, with a like ruddy complexion, and
frank, open face. The two chums were delighted to meet again,
especially as so much had happened since their last meeting. Arm in arm
they walked about the ground talking eagerly, when their conversation
was suddenly interrupted by a shout of laughter from the other end of
the ground.

"I say, Paul, that looks very much like my young cousin coming towards
us," said Stanley, looking in the direction whence the laughter came.
"What on earth has the little ass been doing with himself?"

CHAPTER VI

HARRY MONCRIEF ARRIVES AT GARSIDE

Well might Stanley ask the question. His young cousin had attired
himself in the most extraordinary fashion. His trousers--plaid
ones--were turned up three or four inches at the bottom, as though for
the purpose of displaying to the utmost advantage the white spats on his
patent shoes, while