“Well, young fellow, are you glad to come to school?” he shouted.

Philip reddened and found no word to answer.

“How old are you?”

“Nine,” said Philip.

“You must say sir,” said his uncle.

“I expect you’ve got a good lot to learn,” the headmaster bellowed cheerily.

To give the boy confidence he began to tickle him with rough fingers.  Philip, feeling shy and uncomfortable, squirmed under his touch.

“I’ve put him in the small dormitory for the present....  You’ll like that, won’t you?” he added to Philip.  “Only eight of you in there.  You won’t feel so strange.”

Then the door opened, and Mrs. Watson came in.  She was a dark woman with black hair, neatly parted in the middle.  She had curiously thick lips and a small round nose.  Her eyes were large and black.  There was a singular coldness in her appearance.  She seldom spoke and smiled more seldom still.  Her husband introduced Mr. Carey to her, and then gave Philip a friendly push towards her.

“This is a new boy, Helen, His name’s Carey.”

Without a word she shook hands with Philip and then sat down, not speaking, while the headmaster asked Mr. Carey how much Philip knew and what books he had been working with.  The Vicar of Blackstable was a little embarrassed by Mr. Watson’s boisterous heartiness, and in a moment or two got up.

“I think I’d better leave Philip with you now.”

“That’s all right,” said Mr. Watson.  “He’ll be safe with me.  He’ll get on like a house on fire.  Won’t you, young fellow?”

Without waiting for an answer from Philip the big man burst into a great bellow of laughter.  Mr. Carey kissed Philip on the forehead and went away.

“Come along, young fellow,” shouted Mr. Watson.  “I’ll show you the school-room.”

He swept out of the drawing-room with giant strides, and Philip hurriedly limped behind him.  He was taken into a long, bare room with two tables that ran along its whole length; on each side of them were wooden forms.

“Nobody much here yet,” said Mr. Watson.  “I’ll just show you the playground, and then I’ll leave you to shift for yourself.”

Mr. Watson led the way.  Philip found himself in a large play-ground with high brick walls on three sides of it.  On the fourth side was an iron railing through which you saw a vast lawn and beyond this some of the buildings of King’s School.  One small boy was wandering disconsolately, kicking up the gravel as he walked.

“Hulloa, Venning,” shouted Mr. Watson.  “When did you turn up?”

The small boy came forward and shook hands.

“Here’s a new boy.  He’s older and bigger than you, so don’t you bully him.”

The headmaster glared amicably at the two children, filling them with fear by the roar of his voice, and then with a guffaw left them.

“What’s your name?”

“Carey.”