er made up his mind, and in his brave little heart
determined to tell no one, but to run away, if he only could, to his
grandfather. He knew the way to the station from the school, and he knew
that trains went direct to a station called Kingsdown, where Uncle
Charlie always went when he visited grandfather. "After all, he can't be
worse than the boys," he said to himself. "And Hubert can't help me."

But Hubert did care. His smothered indignation and anxiety knew no
bounds, and the very night that Chris made up his mind to run away, long
after the other boys in his dormitory were asleep, Hubert lay awake
thinking how he could help his little brother. He fancied he heard a
noise in one of the dormitories. It seemed, he thought, to come from the
direction of the one in which Christopher was. He raised himself on his
elbow to listen, and muttered to himself, "They shall only wait till
to-morrow, and then those two fellows, Howard and Peters, shall have a
piece of my mind. They're the ringleaders. It shall be the worse for
them if they've been frightening him to-night."

[Illustration: "SITTING IN SETON'S LITTLE STUDY."]

And he lay there listening till all seemed quiet, and then saying to
himself, "The poor little chap is at peace now, I expect," he turned
round, and dropped off to sleep.

But he had not been listening quite long enough.

Little Christopher waited till all the boys in his room were sound
asleep, pinching himself to keep himself awake; then out of bed he
crept, felt for his clothes, which were close at hand, huddled them on,
put his feet into his felt slippers, as he dared not put on any boots,
and got out in the passage. His bed was near the door, which was
fortunate, for he thought, if he had had to pass many of the boys' beds,
his courage would have failed him. Down the stairs he stole--oh! how
they creaked--and unfastening the shutters of one of the school-room
windows, got out of it into the garden. But ah! he hadn't calculated on
the big dog, whose kennel was hard by, and who was out in a moment.

"Dear, darling Ponto," cried the poor little fellow; "don't bark, my
dear." And up he went, and stroked and patted the great mastiff, who,
already knowing the little fellow, put his paws on his shoulders, and
licked his face with great appreciation. For Christopher was tenderly
kind to animals, and he was rewarded for this now in his day of deep
distress. Ponto did not bark.

Christopher whispered to