thirdly, the two boys in the same carriage were, as he afterwards said to Brock, "such muffs;" and fourthly, he had nothing better to do, and it is pleasanter to be sociable than otherwise. Selfishness made him so.

But between sitting in a first-class carriage and standing on a platform the difference is strange indeed. Oh, you who come down by the 4.0 or 5.20 out of London, and all get out on one platform, and are all going off in carriages, to homes in the same parish, and perhaps some are to dine together, and to meet in the same church next Sunday, do not you know what it is to take side glances at each other on the red tiles of the station platform, and muse how or perhaps why you should cut each other. Many of you know what it is to come down together by one train, and do as Raymond did to Eustace, when he got out of the same carriage-cut him.

"Ah! Beaumont, glad to see you," said Blaney, a son of Sir Richard of that name, who had come to Merton and had heard of Beaumont; "glad to see you-do you know Le Fevre? I say, who's that with ye? Eh! What a fellow! I should think his mother was anxious about him, eh?"

Eustace heard all this as he was going by looking for his carpet bag. He was not without some pride; and whatever there is of that in blood or birth, it was natural that he should have it, as his father had been of a good family. He felt intuitively it was better not to speak to Raymond as he re-crossed him on the platform, though he had come from the same home, and cared for the same things, and had talked so easily just now in the train. He was right. He did re-cross Raymond, and Raymond did not look at him. Raymond called a carriage, in which he and Blaney and Le Fevre were to go together. Merton lay upon a hill about two miles off.

Raymond and Eustace were to be inhabitants of different houses, so that their destination was not exactly the same : still it was sufficient to open out their probation, and to pave the way to an "inheritance," or a “disinheritance." Eustace had placed his luggage in the hands of a boy and walked.

His mother was poor, and

he knew he ought to save every shilling. So he did. And now for the first time came back Evelyn's conversations. Eustace was dull, dull at leaving home, dull at his solitude, dull at being cut; and as he walked along he thought of Him who had been ever to him the chief object of his heart's love, and it was comforting to him. By degrees the fruit of past meditations came to him like starlight in a dark night, or like the sun breaking through on the clear colours of a landscape after the fall of rain.

"Well," said he to himself, "I am despised, but what does it matter! My LORD sees it best for me to suffer this, and I will. What would I not bear if I may only be for ever His, and dwell with Him in heaven. No, no, I will count it all joy if I am allowed to suffer for His sake." So he thought, and the Divine Form came before his eye; and he imagined Him, Whose perfect example had hitherto been the aim of his life, Whose grace and help had been his comfort under troubles.

He reached his destination, and the first night of school seemed to him, indeed, cold and blank, and lonely. Oh how dearly did home come out before him, like a lovely, coloured piece of scenery seen through a break in a cold morning fog, all the lovelier for its pale colourless setting.

The Good Shepherd does not leave His own long without tests and opportunities of showing that they are His; and Eustace soon had his. The first few days at

school passed off quietly. He slept in a room with boys younger than himself, and they were fairly well disposed.

With the exception of a few questions as to his name and antecedents he had found little to try him, except that which even a boy can feel, the marked neglect and contempt with which Raymond treated him.

In the same house there were about thirty boys. These were of all characters and circumstances in life. The house stood some little way from the school, in a retired corner of the town, near a large pond.

A short time after he came a proposal was up to drag a stream, which ran through a gentleman's garden, some five miles from Merton, and all in the house must be in the plot, for they were to leave it by stealth at two in the morning, and to return before the family would be up.

The servants of course must be admitted to the secret, but this was not difficult. They had long been used to serve the boys rather than their master, and to many acts of deception and dissimulation.

The plan was all laid and easily, but one or two difficulties were in the way. How would Eustace take it? "The fool, he's such a spooney," said Hoare, sitting on the edge of a table with his hands deep in his pockets, his hat pulled sideways over his forehead, addressing about a dozen youths, who sat round him in the schoolroom, listening to the suggestions of their leaders. These, by the way, were cutting out their names in the table, and leaving imperishable records of their sojourn in Evans' house. One of them who was cautiously, with both his hands pressed upon his knife, giving the finishing stroke to the Y of Hammersley, which presently was to become the channel for a little reservoir of ink, suddenly looked up, laid down his knife, and with eyes sparkling

with delight, uttered the emphatic word, "Jolly! I say, jolly!" Either the singular elegance of the statement, or perhaps the sonorous voice of the speaker imposed universal silence on the crowd of admirers.

And now all ears were attent upon the suggestions that were about to fall from the Diomede of their little camp. A few seconds passed before the silence was broken, during which Hammersley, with his hands clapped on his knees, had been taking within the range of his sparkling glances the whole company, while his brown cheeks quivered with the smile of emotion. At last the painful silence was broken, and the hero opened his lips again. But he still dealt in exclamations and interjections, "Rich! jolly rich!"

“Well,” said Hammersley, "my plan is this; don't let the fellow into the secret at all, for, depend upon it, he'll betray everything from his 'strong sense of duty,' as he calls it. It will be no difficult work for us to persuade such a home-bred fellow that we are obliged to be off on some expedition of benevolence or high principle, and that the object will justify the means. He'll hold his tongue for the sake of the principle, and we can make it the opportunity of damaging him with Evans. I've laid all my plan, old fellows. I see the whole way before me as clear as a greyhound after a hare; leave me to work it out: it shall end in our success, and in the final upset of all peachers and canters in this house. Evans' never has been disgraced with that sort of cattle, and while Hammersley is at Evans' it never shall. Only leave your ship to me, old boys, I'll bring it into harbour without a leak sprung or any tackle torn; and what's more, we'll blow the enemy's fleet to atoms, and bring a prisoner or two in for summary treatment."

There was again a short silence: everybody likes con

fidence in a leader or an adviser, and however faint the hope may be of success, a decided voice, with an unhesitating assurance of success, always carries its point. If this is the case amongst men, it is trebly so with boys: they worship their hero still more than their elders; and what was more, Hammersley had never been known to fail in any of his exploits. He had always led to victory: so that on this occasion it is no wonderful thing that the momentary silence was followed by a burst of enthusiastic support of the self-elected leader. All were prepared to go with him; but the bell rang for school, and the conspirators parted, full of a rather more practical exploit for their case, than they were likely to find either in Homer or Horace. So the gauntlets were thrown down: the one rattling on the ground as it fell from the hand of the conscious challenger; the other, falling from an unseen hand, lying unnoticed by him in whose cause it had been dropped. The struggle was about to commence for the victory. Which shall prevail? The champion of temptation or the champion of high principle? But it is time for a few moments to review some passages in Eustace's new life, in order that we may judge more fairly of what is to follow.

CHAPTER IV.

THE BED-ROOM.

THE room in which Eustace now slept had six beds in it-iron bedsteads, boxes by the side of each, and lights at the side of the wall. Everything was clean and bright, for the room was kept under close espionage. Through