his year, Tom," said Pembury
to Tom Senior, as they sat together looking on.

"I'm sure they could; I hope we challenge them."

Just then a Sixth Form fellow strolled up to where the speakers were
standing.

"I say, Loman," said Pembury, "we were just saying our men could lick
yours all to fits. Don't you think so yourself?"

"Can't say I do; but you are such a wonderful lot of heroes, you Fifth,
that there's no saying what you couldn't do if you tried," replied
Loman, with a sneer.

"But you take such precious good care we shall not try, that's just it,"
said Pembury, winking at his companion. "Never mind, we'll astonish you
some day," growled the editor of the _Dominican_ as he hobbled away.

Loman strolled up to where the small boys were sitting.

"Which of you is young Greenfield?" he said.

"I am," said Stephen, promptly.

"Run with this letter to the post, then, and bring me back some stamps
while you are there, and get tea ready for two in my study by half-past
six--do you hear?"

And off he went, leaving Stephen gaping at the letter in his hand, and
quite bewildered as to the orders about tea.

Master Paul enjoyed his perplexity.

"I suppose you thought you were going to get off fagging. I say, you'll
have to take that letter sharp, or you'll be late."

"Where's the post-office?"

"About a mile down Maltby Road. Look here, as you are going there, get
me a pound of raisins, will you?--there's a good chap. We'll square up
to-night."

Stephen got up and started on his errands in great disgust.

He didn't see why he was to be ordered about and sent jobs for the other
boys, just at a time, too, when he was enjoying himself. However, it
couldn't be helped.

Three or four fellows stopped him as he walked with the letter in his
hand to the gates.

"Oh, are you going to the post? Look here, young 'un, just call in at
Splicer's about my bat, will you? thanks awfully!" said one.

Another wanted him to buy a sixpenny novel at the library; a third
commissioned him to invest threepence in "mixed sweets, chiefly
peppermint;" and a fourth to call at Grounding, the naturalist's, with a
dead white mouse which the owner wanted stuffed.

After this, Stephen--already becoming a little more knowing--stuffed the
letter in his pocket, and took care, if ever he passed any one, not to
look as if he was going anywhere, for fear of being entrusted with a
further mission.

He discharged all his errands to