to admit that he was a credit to Fellsgarth.
In Wakefield's, his own house, he was naturally an idol. Prodigious
stories were afloat as to his wisdom and his prowess. Examiners were
reported to have rent their clothes in despair at his answers; and at
football, rumour had it that once, in one of the out-matches against
Ridgmoor, he had run the ball down the field with six of the other side
on his back, and finished up with a drop at the goal from thirty yards.

But his popularity in his own house depended less on these exploits than
on his general good-nature and incorruptible fairness. He scorned to
hit an opponent when he was down, and yet he would knock down a friend
as soon as a foe if the credit of the School required it. A few,
indeed, there were whose habit it was to sneer at Yorke for being what
they called "a saint." The captain of Fellsgarth would have been the
last to claim such a title for himself; yet those who knew him best knew
that in all he did, even in the common concerns of daily school life, he
relied on the guidance and help of a Divine Friend, and was not ashamed
to own his faith.

The one drawback to his character in the eyes of certain of his fellow-
prefects and others at Wakefield's was that in the standing feud between
Classics and Moderns he would take no part. He demanded the allegiance
of all parties on behalf of the School, and if any man refused it, Yorke
was the sort of person who would make it his business to know the reason
why.

Now as he got up and waited for the cheers to cease, no one could deny
that he wasn't as fine a captain as Wakefield's could expect to see for
many a day. And for the first time some of those who even feared him
realised with a qualm that this was the last "first-night" on which he
would be there to make the usual speech.

"Gentlemen," he said, "we are all glad to be back in the old place,"
(cheers). "At any rate I am," (loud cheers). "On first-night, as you
know, we always combine business with pleasure. We have just had the
pleasure," (laughter, in the midst of which Fisher minor pricked up his
ears and wondered if his song wasn't going to be appreciated after all).
"The lambs have bleated and done their level best, I'm sure," (renewed
laughter, and cries of "How now?"). "Now for the business. Gentlemen,
the house clubs demand your support." (Fisher minor turned deadly green
as he remembered the Modern boy and his half-crown. He looked round