ce."

"Patience, my dear, patience. I'll tell you in a minute."

"There," he said, after a moment's pause, "that boy seated last but one
on the bench nearest us has more genius than any of them, I should say."
He pointed to one of the youngest-looking of the monitors, who would
also have been the most striking in personal appearance had not the
almost hectic rose-colour of his cheeks, and the quiet shining of his
blue eyes, under the soft hair that hung over his forehead, given a look
of greater delicacy than was desirable in a boyish face.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong," chuckled Walter and his sister. "Try again."

"I'm very rarely wrong, you little rogue, in spite of you; but I'll look
again. No, there can be no doubt about it. Several of those faces show
talent, but one only has a look of genius, and that is the face of the
boy I pointed out before. What is his name?"

"Oh, that's Home. He's clever enough in his way, but the fellow you
ought to have picked out is the monitor I fag for--Bruce, the head of
the school."

"Well, show me your hero."

"There he sits, right in the middle of them, opposite us. There, that's
he just going to speak now."

He pointed to a tall, handsome fellow, with a look of infinite
self-confidence, who at that moment made a low bow to the assembly, and
then began to recite with much force a splendid burst of oratory from
one of Burke's great speeches; which he did with the air of one who had
no doubt that Burke himself might have studied with benefit the scorn
which he flung into his invective and the Olympian grace with which he
waved his arm. A burst of applause followed the conclusion of his
recitation, during which Bruce took his seat with a look of unconcealed
delight and triumph.

"There, papa--what do you think of that? Wasn't I right now?" said the
young Hartonian, whose name was Walter Thornley.

But the old gentleman's only answer was a quiet smile, and he had not
joined in the general clapping. "Is Home to take any part in the
speeches?" he inquired.

"Oh, yes! He's got some part or other in one of the Shakespeare scenes;
but he won't do it half as well as Bruce."

"I observe he's got several of the prizes."

"Yes, that's true. He's a fellow that grinds, you know, and so he can't
help getting some. But Bruce, now, never opens a book, and yet he's
swept off no end of a lot, as you'll see."

"Humph! Walter, I don't much believe in your boys that `never open a