t before he could look at the name on them.

"Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you don't go," said she;
"there's some capital cold beef and pickles up-stairs, and I won't have
you old boys in my room first night."

"Hurrah for the pickles! Come along, Tommy; come along, Smith. We shall
find out who the young Count is, I'll be bound: I hope he'll sleep in my
room. Mary's always vicious first week."

As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron touched Tom's arm, and
said, "Master Brown, please stop a minute, I want to speak to you."

"Very well, Mary. I'll come in a minute: East, don't finish the
pickles--"

"Oh, Master Brown," went on the little matron, when the rest had gone,
"you're to have Gray's study, Mrs. Arnold says. And she wants you to
take in this young gentleman. He's a new boy, and thirteen years old,
though he don't look it. He's very delicate, and has never been from
home before. And I told Mrs. Arnold I thought you'd be kind to him, and
see that they don't bully him at first. He's put into your form, and
I've given him the bed next to yours in Number 4; so East can't sleep
there this half."

Tom was rather put about by this speech. He had got the double study
which he coveted, but here were conditions attached which greatly
moderated his joy He looked across the room, and in the far corner of
the sofa was aware of a slight pale boy, with large blue eyes and light
fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the floor. He saw at a
glance that the little stranger was just the boy whose first half-year
at a public school would be misery to himself if he were left alone, or
constant anxiety to any one who meant to see him through his troubles.
Tom was too honest to take in the youngster and then let him shift for
himself; and if he took him as his chum instead of East, where were all
his pet plans of having a bottled-beer cellar under his window, and
making night-lines and slings, and plotting expeditions to Brownsover
Mills and Caldecott's Spinney? East and he had made up their minds to
get this study, and then every night from locking-up till ten they would
be together to talk about fishing, drink bottled-beer, read Marryat's
novels, and sort birds' eggs. And this new boy would most likely never
go out of the close, and would be afraid of wet feet, and always getting
laughed at and called Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine
nickname.

The matron watched him for a moment, and