E.

CHAPTER I.

AN INTERCESSOR.

In the heart of the City, but fended off from the roar and rattle of
traffic by a ring of shops, and under the shadow of a smoke-begrimed
classical church, stands--or rather stood, for they have removed it
recently--the large public school of St. Peter's.

Entering the heavy old gate, against which the shops on both sides
huddled close, you passed into the atmosphere of scholastic calm
which, during working hours, pervades most places of education, and
saw a long plain block of buildings, within which it was hard to
believe, so deep was the silence, that some hundreds of boys were
collected.

Even if you went down the broad stair to the school entrance and along
the basement, where the bulk of the class-rooms was situated, there
was only a faint hum to be heard from behind the numerous doors--until
the red-waistcoated porter came out of his lodge and rang the big bell
which told that the day's work was over.

Then nervous people who found themselves by any chance in the long
dark corridors experienced an unpleasant sensation, as of a demon host
in high spirits being suddenly let loose to do their will. The
outburst was generally preceded by a dull murmur and rustle, which
lasted for a few minutes after the clang of the bell had died
away--then door after door opened and hordes of boys plunged out with
wild shrieks of liberty, to scamper madly down the echoing flagstones.

For half an hour after that the place was a Babel of unearthly yells,
whistles, and scraps of popular songs, with occasional charges and
scuffles and a constant tramp of feet.

The higher forms on both the classical and modern sides took no part
of course in these exuberances, and went soberly home in twos or
threes, as became 'fellows in the Sixth.' But they were in the
minority, and the Lower School boys and the 'Remove'--that bodyguard
of strong limbs and thick heads which it seemed hopeless to remove any
higher--were quite capable of supplying unaided all the noise that
might be considered necessary; and, as there was no ill-humour and
little roughness in their japes, they were very wisely allowed to let
their steam off without interference. It did not last very long,
though it died out gradually enough: first the songs and whistles
became more isolated and distinct, and the hallooing and tramping less
continued, until the _charivari_ toned down almost entirely, the
frightened silence came stealin