warming with boys. Soon John would see them assembled
in Hall, where their names would be called over by Rutford.
Everybody--John had been told--was expected to be present at this first
call-over, except a few boys who might be coming from a distance. John
worked his way along the upper passage, and down the second flight of
stairs till he came to the first landing. Here, close to the house
notice-board, were some oak panels covered with names and dates, all
carved--so John learned later--by a famous Harrow character, Sam Hoare,
once "Custos" of the School. The boy glanced eagerly, ardently, up and
down the panels. Ah, yes, here was his father's name, and here--his
uncle's. And then out of the dull, finely-grained oak, shone other
names familiar to all who love the Hill and its traditions. John's
heart grew warm again with pride in the house that had held such men.
The name of the great statesman and below it a mighty warrior's made
him thrill and tremble. They were _Old Harrovians_, these fellows, men
whom his uncle had known, men of whom his dear mother, wise soul! had
spoken a thousand times. The landing and the passages were roaring
with the life of the present moment. Boys, big and small, were
chaffing each other loudly. Under some circumstances, this new-comer,
a stranger, ignored entirely, might have felt desolate and forlorn in
the heart of such a crowd; but John was tingling with delight and
pleasure.

Suddenly, the noise moderated. John, looking up, saw a big fellow
slowly approaching, exchanging greetings with everybody. John turned
to a boy close to him.

"Who is it?" he whispered.

The other boy answered curtly, "Lawrence, the Head of the House."

The big fellow suddenly caught John's eyes. What he read
there--admiration, respect, envy--brought a slight smile to his lips.

"Your name?" he demanded.

"Verney."

Lawrence held out his hand, simply and yet with a certain dignity.

"I heard you were coming," he said, keenly examining John's face. "We
can't have too many Verneys. If I can do anything for you, let me
know."

He nodded, and strode on. John saw that several boys were staring with
a new interest. None, however, spoke to him; and he returned to his
room with a blushing face. Scaife had unpacked his clothes and put
them away; he was now surveying the bare walls with undisguised
contempt.

"Isn't this a beastly hole?" he remarked.

John, always interested in people rath