ong many surprizes,
Michael was to have the old gloomy morning-room for himself and his
friends. It looked altogether different now in the chequered sunlight of
the plane tree. The walls had been papered with scenes from cow-boy
life. There were new cupboards and shelves full of new books and an
asbestos gas fire. There were some jolly chairs and a small desk which
almost invited one to compose Iambics.

"Can I really have chaps to tea every Saturday?" Michael asked,
stupefied with pleasure.

"Whenever you like, dearest boy."

"By Jove, how horribly decent," said Michael.

Chapter IV: _Boyhood's Glory_

When at the beginning of term a melancholy senior boy, meeting Michael
in one of the corridors during the actual excitement of the move, asked
him what form he was going into and heard he was on the road to
Caryll's, this boy sighed, and exclaimed:

"Lucky young devil."

"Why?" asked Michael, pushing his way through the diversely flowing
streams of boys who carried household gods to new class-rooms.

"Why, haven't you ever heard old Caryll is the greatest topper that ever
walked?"

"I've heard he's rather a decent sort."

"Chaps have said to me--chaps who've left, I mean," explained the
lantern-jawed adviser, "that the year with Caryll is the best year of
all your life."

Michael looked incredulous.

"You won't think so," prophesied Lantern-jaws gloomily. "Of course you
won't." Then with a sigh, that was audible above the shuffling feet
along the corridors, he turned to enter a mathematical class-room where
Michael caught a glimpse of trigonometrical mysteries upon a blackboard,
as he himself hurried by with his armful of books towards Caryll's
class-room. He hoped Alan had bagged two desks next to each other in the
back row; but unfortunately this scheme was upset by Mr. Caryll's
proposal that the Upper Fourth A should for the present sit in
alphabetical order. There was only one unit between Michael and Alan, a
persevering and freckled Jew called Levy, whose life was made a burden
to him in consequence of his interposition.

Mr. Caryll was an old clergyman reputed in school traditions to be
verging on ninety. Michael scarcely thought he could be so old, when he
saw him walking to school with rapid little steps and a back as straight
and soldierly as General Mace's. Mr. Caryll had many idiosyncrasies,
amongst others a rasping cough which punctuated all his sentences and a
curious habit of combi