nt as he seemed to be, he loved the old school, and hated the
thought of leaving it. He had friends there that were like brothers to
him. There were nooks here and there where he had lounged and enjoyed
life, which seemed like so many homes. He knew he had not done anything
great for Templeton. He knew he had let the tares grow side by side
with the wheat, and made no effort to uproot them. He knew that there
were boys there whom he ought to have befriended, and others he ought to
have scathed; and it made him sad now to think of all he might have
done.

"I don't think they'll erect a statue to me in the Quad, old man," said
he to Mansfield at the end of the examination.

"I know there isn't a fellow that won't be sorry to lose you," said
Mansfield.

"Ah! no doubt. They've had quiet times under easy-going old Saturn, and
don't fancy the prospect of Jove, with his thunderbolts, ruling in his
stead. Eh?"

"If I could be sure of fellows being as fond of me as they are of you, I
should--well, I should get something I don't expect," said Mansfield.

"Don't be too sure, old man," said Ponty. "But, I say, will you take a
hint from a failure like me?" added the old captain, digging deep into
his pockets, and looking a trifle nervous.

"Rather. I'd only be too thankful," said Mansfield.

"Go easy with them at first. Only have one hand in an iron glove. Keep
the other for some of those juniors who may turn out all right, if they
get a little encouragement and aren't snuffed out all at once. You'll
have plenty of work for the iron hand with one or two hornet's nests we
know of. Give the little chaps a chance."

This was dear old Ponty's last will and testament. Templeton looked
back upon him after he had gone, as an easy-going, good-natured, let-
alone, loveable fellow; but it didn't know all of what it owed him.

The examinations came at length. The new boys having been the last to
come, were naturally the first to be examined; and once more the
portraits in the long hall looked down upon Basil Richardson and Georgie
Heathcote, gnawing at the ends of their pens, and gazing at the ceiling
for an inspiration.

It was rather a sad spectacle for those portraits. Possibly they barely
recognised in the reckless, jaunty, fair boy, and his baffled, almost
wrathful companion, the Heathcote and Richardson who four months ago had
sat there, fresh, and simple, and rosy, with the world of Templeton
before them.