He hadn’t been prepared for separate studies, and was not a little astonished and delighted with the palace in question.

It wasn’t very large, certainly, being about six feet long by four broad.  It couldn’t be called light, as there were bars and a grating to the window; which little precautions were necessary in the studies on the ground-floor looking out into the close, to prevent the exit of small boys after locking up, and the entrance of contraband articles.  But it was uncommonly comfortable to look at, Tom thought.  The space under the window at the farther end was occupied by a square table covered with a reasonably clean and whole red and blue check tablecloth; a hard-seated sofa covered with red stuff occupied one side, running up to the end, and making a seat for one, or by sitting close, for two, at the table and a good stout wooden chair afforded a seat to another boy, so that three could sit and work together.  The walls were wainscoted half-way up, the wainscot being covered with green baize, the remainder with a bright-patterned paper, on which hung three or four prints of dogs’ heads; Grimaldi winning the Aylesbury steeple-chase; Amy Robsart, the reigning Waverley beauty of the day; and Tom Crib, in a posture of defence, which did no credit to the science of that hero, if truly represented.  Over the door were a row of hat-pegs, and on each side bookcases with cupboards at the bottom, shelves and cupboards being filled indiscriminately with school-books, a cup or two, a mouse-trap and candlesticks, leather straps, a fustian bag, and some curious-looking articles which puzzled Tom not a little, until his friend explained that they were climbing-irons, and showed their use.  A cricket-bat and small fishing-rod stood up in one corner.

This was the residence of East and another boy in the same form, and had more interest for Tom than Windsor Castle, or any other residence in the British Isles.  For was he not about to become the joint owner of a similar home, the first place he could call his own?  One’s own!  What a charm there is in the words!  How long it takes boy and man to find out their worth!  How fast most of us hold on to them—­faster and more jealously, the nearer we are to that general home into which we can take nothing, but must go naked as we came into the world!  When shall we learn that he who multiplieth possessions multiplieth troubles, and that the one single use of things which we call our own is that they may be his who hath need of them?

“And shall I have a study like this too?” said Tom.

“Yes, of course; you’ll be chummed with some fellow on Monday, and you can sit here till then.”

“What nice places!”

“They’re well enough,” answered East, patronizingly, “only uncommon cold at nights sometimes.  Gower—­that’s my chum—­and I make a fire with paper on the floor after supper generally, only that makes it so smoky.”

“But there’s a big fire out in the passage,” said Tom.