ed his bed.

"Yes," I answered, joyfully, and feeling half the battle over.

"Come in," said he, moving to make room for me.

"Oh no!" I said, in terror at the very idea. "Suppose I fell asleep.
I'll kneel here, and then if any one comes I can crawl back."

"What is it?" Smith said, presently, after a long and awkward pause.

I was thankful that he broke the ice.

"Oh," I whispered, "aren't you jolly miserable here, I say?"

"Pretty!" said he. "Aren't you?"

"Oh, yes! But the fellows are all so unkind to you."

Smith gave a little bitter laugh. "That doesn't matter," he said.

"Doesn't it? I wish I was bigger, I'd back you up--and so will
Flanagan, if you let him."

"Thanks, old man!" said the new boy, putting his hand on my arm. "It's
not the fellows I mind, it's--" and here he pulled up.

"Old Henniker," I put in, in accents of smothered rage.

"Ugh!" said Smith; "she's awful!"

But somehow it occurred to me the Henniker was not what Smith was going
to say when he pulled up so suddenly just before. I felt certain there
was something mysterious about him, and of course, being a boy, I burned
to know.

However, he showed no signs of getting back to that subject, and we
talked about a lot of things, thankful to have scope for once for our
pent-up feelings. It was one of the happiest times I had known for
years, as I knelt there on the hard carpetless floor and found my heart
going out to the heart of a friend. What we talked about was of little
moment; it was probably merely about boys' trifles, such as any boy
might tell another. What was of moment was that there, in dreary,
cheerless Stonebridge House, we had found some interest in common, and
some object for our spiritless lives.

I told him all about home and my uncle, in hopes that he would be
equally communicative, but here he disappointed me.

"Are your father and mother dead too?" I said.

"Not both," he replied.

It was spoken in a tone half nervous, half vexed, so I did not try to
pursue the subject.

Presently he changed the subject and said, "How do you like that fellow
Hawkesbury?"

"Not much; though I don't know why."

Smith put out his hand and pulled my face close to his as he whispered,
"I hate him!"

"Has he been bullying you?" I inquired.

"No," said Smith. "But he's--ugh--I don't know any more than you do why
I hate him. I say, shall you be out in the playground to-morrow?"

"Yes, unless I get four bad m