’Two of our number are this evening absent.  Happily, most happily, absent but for a short time; in our prayers we shall render thanks to the good Providence which has saved us from a terrible calamity.  I do not desire to dwell upon the circumstance that one of these boys, Chadwick, had committed worse than an imprudence in venturing upon the Long Pond; it was in disregard of my injunction; I had distinctly made it known that the ice was still unsafe.  We will speak no more of that.  All we can think of at present is the fact that Chadwick was on the point of losing his life; that in all human probability he would have been drowned, but for the help heroically afforded him by one of his schoolfellows.  I say heroically, and I am sure I do not exaggerate; in the absence of Humplebee I may declare that he nobly perilled his own life to save that of another.  It was a splendid bit of courage, a fine example of pluck and promptitude and vigour.  We have all cause this night to be proud of Humplebee.’

The solemn voice paused.  There was an instant’s profound silence.  Then, from somewhere amid the rows of listeners, sounded a clear, boyish note.

‘Sir, may we give three cheers for Humplebee?’

‘You may.’

The threescore leapt to their feet, and volleys of cheering made the schoolroom echo.  Then the master raised his hand, the tumult subsided, and after a few moments of agitated silence, prayers began.

Next morning there appeared as usual at his desk a short, thin, red-headed boy of sixteen, whose plain, freckled face denoted good-humour and a certain intelligence, but would never have drawn attention amongst the livelier and comelier physiognomies grouped about him.  This was Humplebee.  Hitherto he had been an insignificant member of the school, one of those boys who excel neither at games nor at lessons, of whom nothing is expected, and rarely, if ever, get into trouble, and who are liked in a rather contemptuous way.  Of a sudden he shone glorious; all tongues were busy with him, all eyes regarded him, every one wished for the honour of his friendship.  Humplebee looked uncomfortable.  He had the sniffy beginnings of a cold, the result of yesterday’s struggle in icy water, and his usual diffident and monosyllabic inclination were intensified by the position in which he found himself.  Clappings on the shoulder from bigger boys who had been wont to joke about his name made him flush nervously; to be addressed as ‘Humpy,’ or ‘Beetle,’ or ‘Buz,’ even though in a new tone, seemed to gratify him as little as before.  It was plain that Humplebee would much have liked to be left alone.  He stuck as closely as possible to his desk, and out of school-time tried to steal apart from the throng.

But an ordeal awaited him.  Early in the afternoon there arrived, from a great town not far away, a well-dressed and high-complexioned man, whose every look and accent declared commercial importance.  This was Mr. Chadwick, father of the boy who had all but been drowned.  He and the headmaster held private talk, and presently they sent for Humplebee.  Merely to enter the ‘study’ was at any time Humplebee’s dread; to do so under the present circumstances cost him anguish of spirit.