At a very early hour the young ladies and gentlemen of the school, whose gala dresses needed but the addition of wreaths and bouquets for the evening, began to gather in the drawing room; the girls looking very pretty in their white muslin dresses, pink sashes, and coronets of red roses; and the boys very smart in their holiday clothes, with rosebuds stuck into their buttonholes.  Ishmael was made splendid by the addition of his gold watch and chain, and famous by his success of the morning.  All the girls, and many of the boys, gathered around him, sympathizing with his triumph and complimenting him upon his abilities.  Ishmael was clearly the hero of the evening; but he bore himself with an aspect half of pleasure, half of pain, until Walter Middleton approached him, and taking his arm walked him down the room, until they were out of earshot from the others, when he said: 

“Now do, Ishmael, put off that distressed look and enjoy your success as you ought!  Make much of your watch, my boy!  I know if it were not for thoughts of me, you would enjoy the possession of it vastly—­would you not, now?”

“Yes,” said Ishmael, “I would.”

“You would not be a ‘human boy,’ if you didn’t.  I know well enough I was near losing my wits with delight in the first watch I possessed, although it was but a trumpery little silver affair!  Well, now, Ishmael, enjoy your possession without a drawback.  I assure you, upon record, I am very glad you got the prize.  You deserved the honor more than I did, and you needed the watch more.  For see here, you know I have a gold one of my own already—­my mother’s gift to me on my last birthday,” continued Walter, taking out and displaying his school watch.  “Now what could I do with two?  So, Ishmael, let me see you enjoy yours, or else I shall feel unhappy,” he concluded, earnestly pressing his friend’s hand.

“Walter Middleton, what do you mean, sir, by stealing my thunder in that way?  It is my property that you are carrying off!  Ishmael is my protege, my liege subject.  Bring him back, sir!  I want to show his watch to my companions,” spoke the imperious voice of Miss Merlin.

“Come, Ishmael; you must make a spectacle of yourself again, I suppose, to please that little tyrant,” laughed Walter, as he turned back with his friend towards the group of young girls.

Now in this company was one who looked with the envious malignity of Satan upon the well-merited honors of the poor peasant boy.  This enemy was Alfred Burghe, and he was now savagely waiting his opportunity to inflict upon Ishmael a severe mortification.

As Walter and Ishmael, therefore, approached the group of young ladies, Alfred, who was loitering near them, lying in wait for his victim, drew away with an expression of disgust upon his face, saying: 

“Oh, if that fellow is to join our circle, I shall feel obliged to leave it.  It is degrading enough to be forced to mix with such rubbish in the schoolroom, without having to associate with him in the drawing room.”