"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 to Brownsover
Mills and Caldecott's Spinney? East and he had made up their minds to
get this study, and then every night from locking-up till ten they would
be together to talk about fishing, drink bottled-beer, read Marryat's
novels, and sort birds' eggs. And this new boy would most likely never
go out of the close, and would be afraid of wet feet, and always getting
laughed at, and called Molly, or Jenny, or some derogatory feminine
nickname.

The matron watched him for a moment, and saw what was passing in his
mind, and so, like a wise negotiator, threw in an appeal to his warm
heart. "Poor little fellow," said she, in almost a whisper; "his
father's dead, and he's got no brothers. And his mamma--such a kind,
sweet lady--almost broke her heart at leaving him this morning; and she
said one of his sisters was like to die of decline, and so--"

"Well, well," burst in Tom, with something like a sigh at the effort,
"I suppose I must give up East.--Come along, young un. What's your name?
We'll go and have some supper, and then I'll show you our study."

"His name's George Arthur," said the matron, walking up to him with Tom,
who grasped his little delicate hand as the proper p