“As usual, Barker,” said the master, with a curl of the lip.  “Hold out your hand!”

Barker did so, looking sullen defiance, and the cane immediately descended on his open palm.  Six similar cuts followed, during which the form looked on, not without terror; and Barker, squeezing his hands tight together, went back to his seat.

“Williams, translate the piece in which Barker has just failed!”

Eric did as he was bid, and got through it pretty well.  He had now quite recovered his ordinary bearing, and spoke out clearly and without nervousness.  He afterwards won several places by answering questions, and at the end of the lesson was marked about half-way up the form.  The boys’ numbers were then taken down in the weekly register, and they went back to their seats.

On his desk Eric found a torn bit of paper, on which was clumsily scrawled, “I’ll teach you to grin when I’m turned, you young brute.”

The paper seemed to fascinate his eyes.  He stared at it fixedly, and augured ominously of Barker’s intentions, since that worthy obviously alluded to his having smiled in form, and chose to interpret it as an intentional provocation.  He felt that he was in for it, and that Barker meant to pick a quarrel with him.  This puzzled and annoyed him, and he felt very sad to have found an enemy already.

While he was looking at the paper, the great school-clock struck twelve; and the captain of the form getting up, threw open the folding-doors of the school-room.

“You may go,” said Mr. Gordon; and leaving his seat disappeared by a door at the further end of the room.

Instantly there was a rash for caps, and the boys poured out in a confused and noisy stream, while at the same moment the other school-rooms disgorged their inmates.  Eric naturally went out among the last; but just as he was going to take his cap, Barker seized it, and flung it with a whoop to the end of the passage, where it was trampled on by a number of the boys as they ran out.

Eric, gulping down his fury with a great effort, turned to his opponent, and said coolly, “Is that what you always do to new fellows?”

“Yes, you bumptious young owl, it is, and that too;” and a tolerably smart slap on the face followed—­leaving a red mark on a cheek already aflame with, anger and indignation,—­“should you like a little more?”

He was hurt, both mind and body, but was too proud to cry.  “What’s that for?” he said, with flashing eyes.

“For your conceit in laughing at me when I was caned.”

Eric stamped.  “I did nothing of the kind, and you know it as well as I do.”

“What!  I’m a liar, am I?  O we shall take this kind of thing out of you, you young cub—­take that;” and a heavier blow followed.

“You brutal cowardly bully,” shouted Eric; and in another moment he would have sprung upon him.  It was lucky for him that he did not, for Barker was three years older than he, and very powerful.  Such an attack would hare been most unfortunate for him in every way.  But at this instant some boys hearing the quarrel ran up, and Russell among them.