big bell hung, tinted a warm
gold by the afternoon sun.

This was my school, and it did not look so very-terrible after all.
There was a big bow-window by the pillared portico, and, looking timidly
in, I saw a girl of about my own age sitting there, absorbed in the book
she was reading, her long brown hair drooping over her cheek and the
hand on which it rested.

She glanced up at the sound of the door-bell, and I felt her eyes
examining me seriously and critically, and then I forgot everything but
the fact that I was about to be introduced to my future schoolmaster,
the Rev. Basil Dering.

This was less of an ordeal than I had expected; he had a strong,
massively-cut, leonine face, free and abundant white hair, streaked with
dark grey, but there was a kind light in his eyes as I looked up at
them, and the firm mouth could smile, I found, pleasantly enough.

Mrs. Dering seemed younger, and was handsome, with a certain stateliness
and decision of manner which put me less at my ease, and I was relieved
to be told I might say good-bye to my uncle, and wander about the
grounds as I liked.

I was not surprised to pass through an empty schoolroom, and to descend
by some steep stairs to a deserted playground, for we had been already
told that the Michaelmas holidays were not over, and that the boys would
not return for some days to come.

It gave me a kind of satisfaction to think of my resemblance, just then,
to my favourite David Copperfield, but I was to have a far pleasanter
companion than poor lugubrious, flute-tootling Mr. Mell, for as I paced
the damp paths paved with a mosaic of russet and yellow leaves, I heard
light footsteps behind me, and turned to find myself face to face with
the girl I had seen at the window.

She stood there breathless for an instant, for she had hurried to
overtake me, and against a background of crimson creepers I saw the
brilliant face, with its soft but fearless brown eyes, small straight
nose, spirited mouth, and crisp wavy golden-brown hair, which I see now
almost as distinctly as I write.

'You're the new boy,' she said at length. 'I've come out to make you
feel more at home. I suppose you don't feel _quite_ at home just yet?'

'Not quite, thank you,' I said, lifting my cap with ceremony, for I had
been taught to be particular about my manners; 'I have never been to
school before, you see, Miss Dering.'

I think she was a little puzzled by so much politeness. 'I know,' she