the boy on his feet, and he
stammered out, "Mother."

"You weren't asked if you were like your mother," shouted some one, "are
you most like 'papa or mamma?'"

"Mamma," faltered the boy. Whereat there was great jubilation, as there
was also when he described his hatter as _Mr_. Smith of Totnes.

"Can you swim?"

"N-no, I'm afraid not."

"That's a pity, with the lot you blubber. You'll get drowned some day."

Terrific cheers greeted this sally, in the midst of which the boy was
almost forgotten.

But the political test remained.

"Now, Bertie dear, are you a Radical or a Tory?" he was asked.

The boy took a deep breath, and said--

"I'm a Radical."

At which straightforward and unlooked-for reply there were great cheers
and counter-cheers, in the midst of which the scared little Radical was
hustled down from his perch and sent flying to join his friends, and
calm the fluttering of his poor little heart.

It being evidently unsafe to remain longer in the Quadrangle, the
dejected trio betook themselves with many misgivings, to their house.

Westover's presented a striking contrast to the quiet scene of yesterday
evening. It being still a quarter to twelve, and term not being
supposed to commence till mid-day, the short interval of freedom from
school rules was being made use of to the best advantage.

The matron, shouted at and besieged on all sides, already stood at bay,
with her hands to her ears, having abandoned any attempt to do anything
for anybody. The house porter was in a similar condition of strike. He
had once been knocked completely over by rival claimants on his
assistance, and he had several times been nearly pulled limb from limb
by disappointed employers. He, therefore, stood with his back to the
wall and his arms folded, waiting till the storm should blow itself out.

Upstairs, in the studies, riot scarcely less exuberant was taking place.
Bosom friends, reunited after three weeks' separation, celebrated their
reunion with paeans of jubilation and war-whoops of triumph. "Cargoes"
were being unladen here; Liddell-and-Scott was officiating as a cricket
ball there; a siege was going on round this door, and a hand-to-hand
scrimmage between the posts of that. A few of the placid ones were
quietly unpacking in the midst of the Babel, and one or two were
actually writing home.

Our heroes, fancying the looks neither of the matron's hall nor of the
lobby upstairs, deemed it prudent to