rly beloved--Batchelor, a bad mark," became to me quite a
familiar sound before I had been many Sundays at Stonebridge House.

This particular Sunday evening I thought I should go mad, at least,
during the first part of the performance. I _couldn't_ sit still, and
the more I tried the more restless I became. At last, however, some
chance directed my eyes to where the new boy was sitting in a distant
corner of the room, and from that moment, I can't tell why, I became a
model of quiet sitting. I found myself forgetting all about the
cobwebs, and Mrs Hudson, and the china ornament, and the small of my
back, and thinking of nothing but this solemn, queer boy, with his big
eyes, and black hair, and troubled face. The more I looked at him the
more sorry I felt for him, and the more I wished to be his friend. I
would--

"Batchelor, repeat the last words I read," broke in Miss Henniker.

She thought she had me, but no! Far away as my thoughts had been, my
ears had mechanically retained those last melodious strains, and I
answered, promptly, "Latitudinarianism of an unintelligent
emotionalism!"

One to me! And I returned to my brown study triumphant, and pretty
secure against further molestation.

I made up my mind, come what would, I would speak to the new boy and let
him see _I_ was not against him.

Some one will smile, of course, and say, sarcastically, "What a treat
for the new boy!" But if he only knew with what fear and trembling I
made that resolution, he would acquit Fred Batchelor of any very great
self-importance in the matter.

Bedtime came at last, and, thankful to have the day over, we crawled
away to our roosts. The new boy's bed, as I have said, was next mine,
and I conceived the determination, if I could only keep awake, of
speaking to him after every one was asleep.

It was hard work that keeping awake; but I managed it. Gradually, one
after another dropped off, and the padding footsteps overhead and the
voices below died away till nothing was heard but the angry tick of the
clock outside and the regular breathing of the sleepers on every hand.

Then I softly slid out of bed and crawled on my hands and knees to
Smith's bed. It was an anxious moment for me. He might be asleep, and
wake up in a fright to find some one near him; or he might be awake and
resent my intrusion. Still I determined I _would_ go to him, and I was
rewarded.

"Is that Batchelor?" I heard him whisper as I approach