“And am I to sleep in Number 4?” roared East.

“How’s old Sam, and Bogle, and Sally?”

“Bless the boys!” cries Mary, at last getting in a word; “why, you’ll shake me to death.  There, now, do go away up to the housekeeper’s room and get your suppers; you know I haven’t time to talk.  You’ll find plenty more in the house.—­Now, Master East, do let those things alone.  You’re mixing up three new boys’ things.”  And she rushed at East, who escaped round the open trunks holding up a prize.

“Hullo! look here, Tommy,” shouted he; “here’s fun!” and he brandished above his head some pretty little night-caps, beautifully made and marked, the work of loving fingers in some distant country home.  The kind mother and sisters who sewed that delicate stitching with aching hearts little thought of the trouble they might be bringing on the young head for which they were meant.  The little matron was wiser, and snatched the caps from East before he could look at the name on them.

“Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you don’t go,” said she; “there’s some capital cold beef and pickles upstairs, and I won’t have you old boys in my room first night.”

“Hurrah for the pickles!  Come along, Tommy—­come along, Smith.  We shall find out who the young count is, I’ll be bound.  I hope he’ll sleep in my room.  Mary’s always vicious first week.”

As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron touched Tom’s arm, and said, “Master Brown, please stop a minute; I want to speak to you.”

“Very well, Mary.  I’ll come in a minute, East.  Don’t finish the pickles.”

“O Master Brown,” went on the little matron, when the rest had gone, “you’re to have Gray’s study, Mrs. Arnold says.  And she wants you to take in this young gentleman.  He’s a new boy, and thirteen years old though he don’t look it.  He’s very delicate, and has never been from home before.  And I told Mrs. Arnold I thought you’d be kind to him, and see that they don’t bully him at first.  He’s put into your form, and I’ve given him the bed next to yours in Number 4; so East can’t sleep there this half.”

Tom was rather put about by this speech.  He had got the double study which he coveted, but here were conditions attached which greatly moderated his joy.  He looked across the room, and in the far corner of the sofa was aware of a slight, pale boy, with large blue eyes and light fair hair, who seemed ready to shrink through the floor.  He saw at a glance that the little stranger was just the boy whose first half-year at a public school would be misery to himself if he were left alone, or constant anxiety to any one who meant to see him through his troubles.  Tom was too honest to take in the youngster, and then let him shift for himself; and if he took him as his chum instead of East, where were all his pet plans of having a bottled-beer cellar under his window, and making night-lines and slings, and plotting expeditions