colt amiss," shouted the student.

"Just my luck," grumbled the inquirer, jerking his flies[8] off the
water, and throwing again with a heavy sullen splash, and frightening
Tom's fish.

[8] #Flies#: artificial flies used as bait.

"I say, can't you throw lighter over there? We aren't fishing for
grampuses," shouted Tom across the stream.

"Hullo, Brown! here's something for you," called out the reading man
next moment; "why, your old master, Arnold[9] of Rugby, is dead."

[9] #Arnold#: Dr. Arnold died suddenly at the School on Sunday
morning, June 12, 1842, the day before his forty-seventh
birthday.

Tom's hand stopped half-way in his cast,[10] and his line and flies
went all tangling round and round his rod; you might have knocked him
over with a feather. Neither of his companions took any notice of him,
luckily; and with a violent effort he set to work mechanically to
disentangle his line. He felt completely carried off his moral and
intellectual legs, as if he had lost his standing-point in the
invisible world. Besides which, the deep loving loyalty which he had
felt for his old leader made the shock intensely painful. It was the
first great wrench of his life, the first gap which the angel Death
had made in his circle, and he felt numbed, and beaten down and
spiritless. Well, well! I believe it was good for him and for many
others in like case, who had to learn by that loss that the soul of
man cannot stand or lean upon any human prop, however strong, and
wise, and good; but that He upon whom alone it can stand and lean will
knock away all such props in His own wise and merciful way, until
there is no ground or stay left but Himself, the Rock of Ages, upon
whom alone a sure foundation for every soul of man is laid.

[10] #Cast#: throw.

As he wearily labored at his line, the thought struck him: "It may be
all false, a mere newspaper lie," and he strode up to the recumbent
smoker.

"Let me look at the paper," said he.

"Nothing else in it," answered the other, handing it up to him
listlessly.[11] "Hullo, Brown! what's the matter, old fellow--aren't
you well?"

[11] #Listlessly#: carelessly.

"Where is it?" said Tom, turning over the leaves, his hand trembling,
and his eyes swimming, so that he could not read.

"What? What are you looking for?" said his friend, jumping up and
looking over his shoulder.

"That--about Arnold," said Tom.

"Oh, here," said the other, putting hi