“Hallo, Barker,” said one, “what’s up?”

“Why, I’m teaching this new fry to be less bumptious, that’s all.”

“Shame!” said Russell, as he saw the mark on Eric’s cheek; “what a fellow you are, Barker.  Why couldn’t you leave him alone for his first day, at any rate?”

“What’s that to you?  I’ll kick you too, if you say much.”

“Cave, cave!” whispered half a dozen voices, and instantly the knot of boys dispersed in every direction, as Mr. Gordon was seen approaching.  He had caught a glimpse of the scene without understanding it, and seeing the new boy’s red and angry face, he only said, as he passed by, “What, Williams! fighting already?  Take care.”

This was the cruellest cut of all.  “So,” thought Eric, “a nice beginning! it seems both boys and masters are against me;” and very disconsolately he walked to pick up his cap.

The boys were all dispersed in the play-ground at different games, and as he went home he was stopped perpetually, and had to answer the usual questions, “What’s your name?  Are you a boarder or a day scholar?  What form are you in?” Eric expected all this, and it therefore did not annoy him.  Under any other circumstances, he would have answered cheerfully and frankly enough; but now he felt miserable at his morning’s rencontre, and his answers were short and sheepish, his only desire being to get away as soon as possible.  It was an additional vexation to feel sure that his manner did not make a favorable impression.

Before he had got out of the play ground, Russell ran up to him.  “I’m afraid you won’t like this, or think much of us, Williams,” he said.  “But never mind.  It’ll only last a day or two, and the fellows are not so bad as they seem; except that Barker.  I’m sorry you’ve come across him, but it can’t be helped.”

It was the first kind word he had had since the morning, and after his troubles kindness melted him.  He felt half inclined to cry, and for a few moments could say nothing in reply to Russell’s soothing words.  But the boy’s friendliness went far to comfort him, and at last, shaking hands with him, he said—­

“Do let me speak to you sometimes, while I am a new boy, Russell.”

“O yes,” said Russell, laughing, “as much as ever you like.  And as Barker hates me pretty much as he seems inclined to hate you, we are in the same box.  Good bye.”

So Eric left the field, and wandered home, like Calchas in the Iliad, “Sorrowful by the side of the sounding sea.”  Already the purple mantle had fallen from his ideal of schoolboy life.  He got home later than they expected, and found his parents waiting for him.  It was rather disappointing to them to see his face so melancholy, when they expected him to be full of animation and pleasure.  Mrs. Williams drew her own conclusions from the red mark on his cheek, as well as the traces of tears welling to his eyes; but, like a wise mother, she asked nothing, and left the boy to tell his own story,—­which, in time he did, omitting all the painful part, speaking enthusiastically of Russell, and only admitting that he had been a little teased.