children as
never made a decent husband nor a well-behaved child yet." Yet in
certain cases of undeserved brutality, like Robin's, I fear she
sometimes counselled resistance, on the principle that it "couldn't
make him do worse, and might make him do better."

I am sure that my father had never thought of Mrs. Bundle acting as
sick nurse in the village; but matters seemed to develop of
themselves. She was so experienced and capable that she could hardly
fail to smoothe the disordered bed-clothes, open the window, clear the
room of the shiftless gossips who flocked like ravens to predict
death, and take the control of mismanaged sick-rooms. It came to be a
common thing that some wan child should present itself at our door
with the message that "Missis Bundle she wants her things, for as
mother be so bad, she says she'll see her over the night."

As for herself, I doubt if she had ever been happier in her life. Her
conscience was at ease, for she certainly worked hard enough for her
wages, and it was good to see the glow of pleasure that an
oft-repeated remark of my father's never failed to bring over her
honest face.

"Don't overwork yourself, Mrs. Bundle. What should we do if you were
laid up?"

CHAPTER XXIII

I GO TO ETON--MY MASTER--I SERVE HIM WELL

I went joyfully to school the first time, but each succeeding half
with less and less willingness. And yet my school-days were very happy
ones, especially to look back upon.

"You will be in the same tutor's house as Lionel Damer," said my
father; "and I have written to ask him to befriend you."

"Just the sort of idiotic thing parents do do," said Sir Lionel, on
our first meeting. "You may thank your stars I don't pay you off for
it."

Leo had grown much taller since we met, but he had lost none of his
beauty. I was overpowered by his noble appearance and the air of
authority he wore, and then and there gave him the hero-worship of my
heart. It was with a thrill of delight that I heard him add, "However,
I want a fag, and I dare say I can take you. Any sock with you?"

"Oh, yes, Leo," said I, hastily; "a big hamper. And there are two
cakes, and a pigeon pie, and lots of jam, and some macaroons and
turnovers, and two bottles of raspberry vinegar."

"My name's Damer," said Leo. "Can you cook?"

"Not yet, Damer," said I, hoping that my answer conveyed my
willingness to learn. For I was quite prepared for all the duties of
fag life from Mr. Clerke's