the Doctor know? And what a noble use he always made of it! He
almost resolved to abjure rook-pies and night-lines for ever. The tea
went merrily off, the Doctor now talking of holiday doings, and then of
the prospects of the half-year, what chance there was for the Balliol
scholarship, whether the eleven would be a good one. Every body was at
his ease, and every body felt that he, young as he might be, was of some
use in the little school world, and had a work to do there.

Soon after tea the Doctor went off to his study, and the young boys a
few minutes afterwards took their leave, and went out of the private
door which led from the Doctor's house into the middle passage.

At the fire, at the further end of the passage, was a crowd of boys in
loud talk and laughter. There was a sudden pause when the door opened,
and then a great shout of greeting, as Tom was recognised marching down
the passage.

"Hullo, Brown, where do you come from?"

"Oh, I've been to tea with the Doctor," says Tom, with great dignity.

"My eye!" cried East. "Oh! so that's why Mary called you back, and you
didn't come to supper. You lost something--that beef and pickles was no
end good."

"I say, young fellow," cried Hall, detecting Arthur, and catching him by
the collar, "what's your name? Where do you come from? How old are you?"

Tom saw Arthur shrink back, and look scared as all the group turned to
him, but thought it best to let him answer, just standing by his side to
support in case of need.

"Arthur, sir. I come from Devonshire."

"Don't call me 'sir,' you young muff. How old are you?"

"Thirteen."

"Can you sing?"

The poor boy, was trembling and hesitating. Tom struck in--"You be
hanged, Tadpole. He'll have to sing, whether he can or not, Saturday
twelve weeks, and that's long enough off yet."

"Do you know him at home, Brown?"

"No; but he's my chum in Gray's old study, and it's near prayer time,
and I haven't had a look at it yet. Come along, Arthur."

Away went the two, Tom longing to get his charge safe under cover, where
he might advise him on his deportment.

"What a queer chum for Tom Brown," was the comment at the fire; and it
must be confessed so thought Tom himself, as he lighted his candle, and
surveyed the new green-baize curtains and the carpet and sofa with much
satisfaction.

"I say, Arthur, what a brick your mother is to make us so cosy. But look
here now, you must answer straight up when the fellows s