a warm "Good-night," left me, and I
was thankful, at any rate, for the prospect of a few hours' sleep and
forgetfulness.

I was just getting into bed, and had turned back the clothes to do so,
when I suddenly caught sight of a scrap of paper appearing from under my
pillow.

I first supposed it must be some remnant of last night's sports, but, on
taking it out, found that it was a note carefully rolled up and
addressed to me in Smith's well-known hand.

With eager haste I unfolded it and read, "I'm expelled. Good-bye.
Write `J.,' Post-Office, Packworth."

Expelled! sent off at an hour's notice, without even a word of good-bye!
My first sensations were selfish, and as I curled myself up in bed,
with his note fast in my hand, I felt utterly wretched, to know that my
only friend, the only comfort I had at Stonebridge House, had been taken
away. What should I do without him?

Expelled! Where had he gone to, then? Packworth, I knew, was a large
town about ten miles from Brownstroke, where my uncle now and then went
on business. Did Jack live there, then? And if he did, why had he
never told me? At any rate, I could get over and see him in the
holidays. "Write to me." How was that possible here? unless, indeed--
unless I could smuggle the letter into the post. Poor Jack expelled!
Why should he be expelled more than any of us, except Hawkesbury? What
a fury he had been in with Hawkesbury that very morning! Certainly
Hawkesbury was aggravating. Strange that my friend Smith and
Hawkesbury--that my friend Jack--that Jack and Hawk--

And here, in a piteous muddle of mind and spirit, I fell asleep.

I remained another year at Stonebridge House after Jack Smith had been
expelled. We did not get a single holiday during that period, so that
my scheme of walking over from Brownstroke, and finding him out at
Packworth, never came off. And I only contrived to write to him once.
That was the first time, the Sunday after he had left, when the Henniker
saw me dropping my letter into the post. After that I was closely
watched, and I need hardly say, if Jack ever wrote to me, I never got
his letter. Still I cherished the memory of my friend, and even when
Stonebridge House was most desolate, found some consolation in feeling
pretty sure I had a friend somewhere, which is more than every one can
say.

I made steady progress with my arithmetic and other studies during the
year, thanks to Mr Hashford, who, good fellow