d day for Clump, the
keenness with which he had felt our rudeness, and the excitement of
recital were, all together, too much for our good old castellan. The
erectness of his figure gave way as he concluded, the enthusiasm in his
features faded into dejection, and, as he turned from the table to leave
the room, I saw a big drop, that had trickled down his wrinkled face,
fall on his extended hand.

The cruelty of boys is an idiosyncrasy in their otherwise generous
character. Of course there are mean boys, hard-hearted boys, cowardly
boys; but Boyhood is more generous, open, tender-hearted, daring, than
Manhood, yet its cruelty stands out a distinguishing trait. An old
French teacher, loving children, wanting in dignity, broken in English,
irritable in disposition; a sensitive young stranger, fresh from home,
charming in innocence, sad with thoughts of a dear mother; a poor,
frightened kitten, are all objects for boys' cruelty to gloat over.

And so, too, on the oddities of that dear old Clump, that excellent,
noble-hearted old black man, who loved us with surpassing pride and
tenderness, we delighted to prey on as vultures on a carcass, and yet, I
am sure, we were neither vicious nor hard-hearted, but simply and
entirely--Boys.

All this time, since our Saturday afternoon, when the fight overset our
boat, Alfred Higginson and Drake had not spoken to one another. This
eighteenth of June, even, Drake did not wake Alfred, but left others of
us to do so. Thrown together so intimately every minute of the day, and
so often on the point of speaking--often almost necessitated to do so by
circumstances, and frequently through forgetfulness--their unfortunate
difficulty and enmity stole the freshness from their sports, and acted
as a check and damper on the spirits of all our little company.
However, the _finale_ was not far-distant, but it was postponed until
after the boat-race.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE REGATTA--THE DUEL.

By agreement we rested through the middle of the day, and, in place of
our usual hearty dinner, took an early lunch. It was irksome, though,
to be quiet when so excited, and when, too, a multitude of pastimes were
suggested to our senses by the loveliness of that June day.

Mr Clare and Captain Mugford had gone to fish in the Race off the
extreme point.

When half-past one o'clock came, Harry, who seemed the most impatient,
proposed that we should go down to Bath Bay then, and wait there until