land-agent of the
Trent property."

John went back to Verney Boscobel, and repeated what Fluff had said, as
his own.

"It was simply splendid, mum, like a sort of castle in fairyland and
all that, but I _am_ glad I'm not a duke. And I expect that even an
earl has a lot of beastly jobs to do which never bother _us_."

"Oh, you've found that out, have you, John? Well, I hesitated when the
invitation came; but I'm glad now that you went."

"Yes; and it's ripping to be home again."

The summer term began in glorious sunshine; and John forgot that he
owned an umbrella. The Caterpillar and he had achieved their remove,
but the unhappy Duffer was left behind alone with the hideous necessity
of doing his form's work by himself. The boys occupied the same rooms,
but John prepared his Greek and Latin with Scaife, Caesar, and the
Caterpillar; whom he was now privileged to call by their nick-names.
They began to call him John, hearing young Kinloch do so; and then one
day, Scaife, looking up with his derisive smile, said--

"I'm going to call you Jonathan."

"Good," said Desmond. "All the same, we can't call either the Duffer
or Fluff--David, can we?"

"I was not thinking of Kinloch or Duff," said Scaife, staring hard at
John. And John alone knew that Scaife read him like a book, in which
he was contemptuously amused--nothing more. After that, as if Scaife's
will were law, the others called John--Jonathan.

Very soon, the sun was obscured by ever-thickening clouds, John
happened to provoke the antipathy of a lout in his form known as Lubber
Sprott. Sprott began to persecute him with a series of petty insults
and injuries. He accused him of "sucking up" to a lord, of putting on
"lift" because he was the youngest boy in the Upper Remove, of
kow-towing to the masters--and so forth. Then, finding these repeated
gibes growing stale, he resorted to meaner methods. He upset ink on
John's books, or kicked them from under his arm as he was going up to
the New Schools. He put a "dringer" [2] into the pocket of John's
"bluer." [3] He pinched him unmercifully if he found himself next to
John in form, knowing that John would not betray him. When occasion
offered he kicked John. In short, he was successful in taking all the
fun and sparkle out of the merrie month of May.

Finally, Caesar got an inkling of what was going on.

"Is Sprott ragging you?" he asked point-blank.

"Ye-es," said John, blushing. "It's n-not