to be you, Bacon.'

Pig, you notice, for aggravation--Piggy in enthusiastic applause. In the
moment of possible tragedy the more formal Bacon.

'I haven't,' said Quentin, very white himself, 'but if I have he
began--by calling names.'

Smithson moved and grunted. A sigh of relief swept the ring as a breeze
sweeps a cornfield.

'He's all right. A fair knock out. Piggy's got the use of 'em. Do
Smithie good.' The voices hushed suddenly. A master was on the
scene--the classical master.

'Fighting?' he said. 'The new boy? Who began it?'

'I did,' said Quentin, 'but he began with calling names.'

'Sneak!' murmured the entire school, and Quentin, who had seen no reason
for not speaking the truth, perceived that one should not tell all one
knows, and that once more he stood alone in the world.

'You will go to your room, de Ward,' said the classical master, bending
over Smithson, who having been 'knocked silly' still remained in that
condition, 'and the headmaster will consider your case to-morrow. You
will probably be expelled.'

Quentin went to his room and thought over his position. It seemed to be
desperate. How was he to know that the classical master was even then
saying to the Head:

'He's got something in him, prig or no prig, sir.'

'You were quite right to send him to his room,' said the Head,
'discipline must be maintained, as Mr. Ducket says. But it will do
Smithson major a world of good. A boy who reads Shakespeare for fun, and
has views about Atlantis, and can knock out a bully as well.... He'll be
a power in the school. But we mustn't let him know it.'

That was rather a pity. Because Quentin, furious at the injustice of the
whole thing--Smithson, the aggressor, consoled with; himself punished;
expulsion threatened--was maturing plans.

'If mother had known what it was like,' he said to himself, 'she would
never have left me here. I've got the two pounds she gave me. I shall
go to the White Hart at Salisbury ... no, they'd find me then. I'll go
to Lyndhurst; and write to her. It's better to run away than to be
expelled. Quentin Durward would never have waited to be expelled from
anywhere.'

Of course Quentin Durward was my hero's hero. It could not be otherwise
since his own name was so like that of the Scottish guardsman.

Now the school in Salisbury was a little school for little boys--boys
who were used to schools and took the rough with the smooth. But Quentin
was not used to schools, and h