puzzled me very much, I must have
asked you to settle it. But it is very odd, papa, Ethel is the one of
them all who treats me most as if I had real authority over her; she
lets me scold her, asks my leave, never seems to recollect for a moment
how little older I am, and how much cleverer she is. I am sure I
never should have submitted so readily. And that always makes it more
difficult to me to direct her; I don't like to take upon me with her,
because it seems wrong to have her obeying me as if she were a mere
child."

"She is a fine creature," said Dr. May emphatically. "It just shows the
fact, the higher the mind the readier the submission. But you don't mean
that you have any difficulty with the others?"

"Oh, no, no. Flora never could need any interference, especially from
me, and Mary is a thorough good girl. I only meant that Ethel lays
herself out to be ruled in quite a remarkable way. I am sure, though she
does love learning, her real love is for goodness and for you, papa."

Ethel would have thought her sacrifice well paid for, had she seen her
father's look of mournful pleasure.

CHAPTER XIX.

O ruthful scene! when from a nook obscure,
His little sister doth his peril see,
All playful as she sate, she grows demure,
She finds full soon her wonted spirits flee,
She meditates a prayer to set him free.
SHENSTONE.

The setting sun shone into the great west window of the school at
Stoneborough, on its bare walls, the masters' desks, the forms polished
with use, and the square, inky, hacked and hewed chests, carved with the
names of many generations of boys.

About six or eight little boys were clearing away the books or papers
that they, or those who owned them as fags, had left astray, and a good
deal of talk and laughing was going on among them. "Ha!" exclaimed one,
"here has Harrison left his book behind him that he was showing us the
gladiators in!" and, standing by the third master's desk, he turned
over a page or two of Smith's 'Antiquities', exclaiming, "It is full of
pictures--here's an old man blowing the bellows--"

"Let me see!" cried Tom May, precipitating himself across the benches
and over the desk, with so little caution, that there was an outcry;
and, to his horror, he beheld the ink spilled over Mr. Harrison's book,
while, "There, August! you've been and done it!" "You'll catch it!"
resounded on all sides.