a private
school, where the advantages are greater than here. My father does not
wish me to attend a public school any longer."

This statement was made on the spur of the moment, to cover the
mortification which his defeat had occasioned him. It proved true,
however. On his return home, Dawkins succeeded in persuading his father
to transfer him to a private school, and he took away his books at the
end of the week. Had he recovered his lost rank there is no doubt that
he would have remained.

Truth to tell, there were few who mourned much for the departure of
George Dawkins. He had never been a favorite. His imperious temper and
arrogance rendered this impossible.

After he left school, Paul saw little of him for two or three years.
At their first encounter Paul bowed and spoke pleasantly, but Dawkins
looked superciliously at him without appearing to know him.

Paul's face flushed proudly, and afterwards he abstained from making
advances which were likely to be repulsed. He had too much self-respect
to submit voluntarily to such slights.

Meanwhile Paul's school life fled rapidly. It was a happy time,--happy
in its freedom from care, and happy for him, though all school boys do
not appreciate that consideration, in the opportunities for improvement
which it afforded. These opportunities, it is only just to Paul to say,
were fully improved. He left school with an enviable reputation, and
with the good wishes of his schoolmates and teachers.

Paul was now sixteen years old, a stout, handsome boy, with a frank,
open countenance, and a general air of health which formed quite a
contrast to the appearance he presented when he left the hospitable
mansion which Mr. Nicholas Mudge kept open at the public expense.

Paul was now very desirous of procuring a situation. He felt that it was
time he was doing something for himself. He was ambitious to relieve the
kind sexton and his wife of some portion, at least, of the burden of his
support.

Besides, there was the legacy of debt which his father had bequeathed
him. Never for a moment had Paul forgotten it. Never for a moment had he
faltered in his determination to liquidate it at whatever sacrifice to
himself.

"My father's name shall be cleared," he said to himself, proudly.
"Neither Squire Conant nor any one else shall have it in his power to
cast reproach upon his memory."

The sexton applauded his purpose.

"You are quite right, Paul," he said. "But you need not