ld air to the warmth, and the kisses, and the smiles
of home.

Chapter XI.

THE NEW SCHOOLFELLOW.

"Father," said Tom one evening near the end of the holidays, "Uncle
Glegg says Lawyer Wakem is going to send his son to Mr. Stelling. You
won't like me to go to school with Wakem's son, will you, father?"

"It's no matter for that, my boy," said Mr. Tulliver; "don't you learn
anything bad of him, that's all. The lad's a poor deformed creatur.
It's a sign Wakem thinks high o' Mr. Stelling, as he sends his son to
him, and Wakem knows meal from bran, lawyer and rascal though he is."

It was a cold, wet January day on which Tom went back to school. If he
had not carried in his pocket a parcel of sugar-candy, there would have
been no ray of pleasure to enliven the gloom.

"Well, Tulliver, we're glad to see you again," said Mr. Stelling
heartily, on his arrival. "Take off your wrappings and come into the
study till dinner. You'll find a bright fire there, and a new
companion."

Tom felt in an uncomfortable flutter as he took off his woollen
comforter and other wrappings. He had seen Philip Wakem at St. Ogg's,
but had always turned his eyes away from him as quickly as possible,
for he knew that for several reasons his father hated the Wakem family
with all his heart.

"Here is a new companion for you to shake hands with, Tulliver," said
Mr. Stelling on entering the study--"Master Philip Wakem. You already
know something of each other, I imagine, for you are neighbours at
home."

Tom looked confused, while Philip rose and glanced at him timidly. Tom
did not like to go up and put out his hand, and he was not prepared to
say, "How do you do?" on so short a notice.

Mr. Stelling wisely turned away, and closed the door behind him. He
knew that boys' shyness only wears off in the absence of their elders.

Philip was at once too proud and too timid to walk towards Tom. He
thought, or rather felt, that Tom did not like to look at him. So they
remained without shaking hands or even speaking, while Tom went to the
fire and warmed himself, every now and then casting glances at Philip,
who seemed to be drawing absently first one object and then another on
a piece of paper he had before him. What was he drawing? wondered Tom,
after a spell of silence. He was quite warm now, and wanted something
new to be going forward. Suddenly he walked across the hearth, and
looked over Philip's paper.

"Why, that's a don