The boy’s eyes glistened with joyful surprise.  “How good they are,” he said; “I shall write and thank Mrs. Williams directly we get to Roslyn.”

They had a fine bright voyage, and arrived that night.  Eric, as a new comer, was ushered at once into Dr. Rowlands’ drawing-room, where the head master was sitting with his wife and children.  His greeting was dignified, but not unkindly; and, on saying “good night,” he gave Eric a few plain words of affectionate advice.

At that moment Eric hardly cared for advice.  He was full of life and spirits, brave, bright, impetuous, tingling with hope, in the flush and flower of boyhood.  He bounded down the stairs, and in another minute entered the large room where all Dr. Rowlands’ boarders assembled, and where most of them lived, except the few privileged sixth form, and other boys who had “studies.”  A cheer greeted his entrance into the room.  By this time most of the Rowlandites knew him, and were proud to have him among their number.  They knew that he was clever enough to get them credit in the school, and, what was better still, that he would be a capital accession of strength to the cricket and football.  Except Barker, there was not one who had not a personal liking for him, and on this occasion even Barker was gracious.

The room in which Eric found himself was large and high.  At one end was a huge fire-place, and there was generally a throng of boys round the great iron fender, where, in cold weather, a little boy could seldom get.  The large windows opened on the green playground; and iron bars prevented any exit through them.  This large room, called “the boarders’ room,” was the joint habitation of Eric and some thirty other boys; and at one side ran a range of shelves and drawers, where they kept their books and private property.  There the younger Rowlandites breakfasted, dined, had tea, and, for the most part, lived.  Here, too, they had to get through all such work as was not performed under direct supervision.  How many and what varied scenes had not that room beheld! had those dumb walls any feeling, what worlds of life and experience they would have acquired!  If against each boy’s name, as it was rudely cut on the oak panels, could have been also cut the fate that had befallen him, the good that he had there learnt, the evil that he had there suffered—­what noble histories would the records unfold of honor and success, of baffled temptations and hard-won triumphs; what awful histories of hopes blighted and habits learned, of wasted talents and ruined lives!

The routine of school-life was on this wise:—­At half-past seven the boys came down to prayers, which were immediately followed by breakfast.  At nine they went into school, where they continued, with little interruption, till twelve.  At one they dined, and, except on half-holidays, went into school again from two till five.  The lock-up bell rang at dusk; at six o’clock they had tea—­which