tisfied.

"You have a great deal to learn. I doubt if Mr. Morton quite
realized---- A heavy task in front of you, too, Mr. Ricardo. One
word, please----"

They spoke in undertones. Robert slid back into his seat. He could
feel exultant glances sting and pierce him on every side. And yet when
the door closed he had to look up. He was driven by a relentless
curiosity to meet the worst. Mr. Ricardo had resumed his place. He
did not so much as glance at Robert. He clung on to the lapels of his
coat and blinked up at the window as though nothing had happened. But
there was something impish twitching at the corners of his nervous
mouth.

"My delightful young friends," he said, "you will be kind enough to
leave Stonehouse in peace both now and hereafter. I know your amiable
propensities, and my own conviction is that he is probably worth the
pack of you. Get out your history books----"

So he was a friend. A powerful friend. But not powerful enough. No
one looked at Robert again. And yet he knew, with all the certainty of
inherited instinct, that they were waiting for him.

4

He went out into the school-yard like an early Christian into the
arena. He knew exactly what to expect. It was just the Terrace over
again. He would have to fight them all until they learnt to leave him
alone. Somehow he knew for certain that to be left alone was the best
he could expect. They would never really forgive him for being
different from themselves. It was very mysterious. It couldn't be his
father or the unpaid bills any more. It seemed that if you were born
different you remained different, however hard you tried. He had
wanted so much to go to school, to run with a band again, to play games
with them and have them call out, "Hallo, Stonehouse!" as he heard
other boys call to each other across the street. He had meant to be
exactly like them at all costs. It had seemed so easy, since his
father was dead and Christine paid the butcher. But at once he had
been found out, a marked man. He hadn't got a father and mother like
ordinary people, he didn't go to church, he didn't say his prayers, he
couldn't read, and he didn't know who God was--or even Christine----

There was a moment of suspense before the attack opened. Like an old,
experienced general he made his way with apparent indifference towards
the wall. But he was not quite quick enough. Someone prodded him
sharply in the back. Someone hiss