nown I would have arranged it all differently.
He should have had a cubicle." The boy did not die, but he left Sawston,
never to return.

The day before his departure Rickie sat with him some time, and tried to
talk in a way that was not pedantic. In his own sorrow, which he could
share with no one, least of all with his wife, he was still alive to the
sorrows of others. He still fought against apathy, though he was losing
the battle.

"Don't lose heart," he told him. "The world isn't all going to be like
this. There are temptations and trials, of course, but nothing at all of
the kind you have had here."

"But school is the world in miniature, is it not, sir?" asked the
boy, hoping to please one master by echoing what had been told him by
another. He was always on the lookout for sympathy--: it was one of the
things that had contributed to his downfall.

"I never noticed that myself. I was unhappy at school, and in the world
people can be very happy."

Varden sighed and rolled about his eyes. "Are the fellows sorry for what
they did to me?" he asked in an affected voice. "I am sure I forgive
them from the bottom of my heart. We ought to forgive our enemies,
oughtn't we, sir?"

"But they aren't your enemies. If you meet in five years' time you may
find each other splendid fellows."

The boy would not admit this. He had been reading some revivalistic
literature. "We ought to forgive our enemies," he repeated; "and however
wicked they are, we ought not to wish them evil. When I was ill, and
death seemed nearest, I had many kind letters on this subject."

Rickie knew about these "many kind letters." Varden had induced the
silly nurse to write to people--people of all sorts, people that he
scarcely knew or did not know at all--detailing his misfortune, and
asking for spiritual aid and sympathy.

"I am sorry for them," he pursued. "I would not like to be like them."

Rickie sighed. He saw that a year at Dunwood House had produced a
sanctimonious prig. "Don't think about them, Varden. Think about
anything beautiful--say, music. You like music. Be happy. It's your
duty. You can't be good until you've had a little happiness. Then
perhaps you will think less about forgiving people and more about loving
them."

"I love them already, sir." And Rickie, in desperation, asked if he
might look at the many kind letters.

Permission was gladly given. A neat bundle was produced, and for about
twenty minutes the master per