Within a few minutes, therefore, of their entry, all the other boys who slept in Number 4, had come up.  The little fellows went quietly to their own beds, and began undressing and talking to each other in whispers; while the elder, among whom was Tom, sat chatting about on one another’s beds.  Poor little Arthur was overwhelmed with the novelty of his position.  The idea of sleeping in the room with strange boys had clearly never crossed his mind before, and was as painful as it was strange to him.  He could hardly bear to take his jacket off; however, presently, with an effort, off it came, and then he paused and looked at Tom, who was sitting at the bottom of his bed talking and laughing.

“Please, Brown,” he whispered, “may I wash my face and hands?”

“Of course, if you like,” said Tom, staring; “that’s your washhand-stand, under the window, second from your bed.  You’ll have to go down for more water in the morning if you use it all.”  And on he went with his talk, while Arthur stole timidly from between the beds out to his washhand-stand, and began his ablutions, thereby drawing for a moment on himself the attention of the room.

[Illustration:  THE BULLY CAUGHT IT ON HIS ELBOW]

On went the talk and laughter.  Arthur finished his washing and undressing, and put on his nightgown.  He then looked round more nervously than ever.  Two or three of the little boys were already in bed, sitting up with their chins on their knees.  The light burned clear, the noise went on.  It was a trying moment for the poor little lonely boy; however, this time he didn’t ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped on his knees by his bedside, as he had done every day from his childhood, to open his heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareth the sorrows of the tender child, and the strong man in agony.

Tom was sitting at the bottom of his bed unlacing his boots, so that his back was toward Arthur, and he didn’t see what had happened, and looked up in wonder at the sudden silence.  Then two or three boys laughed and sneered, and a big brutal fellow, who was standing in the middle of the room, picked up a slipper, and shied it at the kneeling boy, calling him a sniveling young shaver.  Then Tom saw the whole, and the next moment the boot he had just pulled off flew straight at the head of the bully, who had just time to throw up his arm and catch it on his elbow.

“Confound you, Brown, what’s that for?” roared he, stamping with pain.

“Never mind what I mean,” said Tom, stepping on to the floor, every drop of blood in his body tingling; “if any fellow wants the other boot, he knows how to get it.”

What would have been the result is doubtful, for at this moment the sixth-form boy came in, and not another word could be said.  Tom and the rest rushed into bed and finished unrobing there, and the old verger, as punctual as the clock, had put out the candle in another minute, and toddled on to the next room, shutting the door with his usual “Good night, genl’m’n.”