but right at the angle of the roof, where a low window, kept
always open by Killigrew, allowed the worst of the smell to be wafted
away. The increasing size of the badger and its consequent fierceness
were likely to make its ultimate retention impossible; even now, a mere
ball of striped fluff, it bit savagely whenever it was handled.

Badgers, which are often erroneously supposed to be nearly extinct in
England, swarm over Cornwall, so that Killigrew's specimen did not enjoy
any special distinction as a rarity, save in its capacity as a "pet."
They are, however, very difficult to catch, being strong and cunning and
armed with terrific teeth and claws, and Killigrew was passionately
attached to his unyielding prisoner, not so much for its own sake as for
what it represented for him--outlawry, romance, the touch of the wild
which glorified life. Not on the first day was Ishmael accounted
worthy, or even safe, as a repository for this secret, but when
Killigrew did show it him, Ishmael rose in importance through his
intimate knowledge of badgers and their ways.

"Wouldn't _He_ let you keep it if _He_ knew?" asked Ishmael, when,
finger and thumb round its neck and another finger firmly gripping under
a forepaw, he had held and admired the spitting animal.

"Rather not. We're not allowed to _keep_ anything, though they make us
sweat across the moor what they call 'observing the animal creation in
its own haunts.' They like one to grind over beastesses and butterflies
and suchlike."

"I know a lot about them," boasted Ishmael.

"Then you'd better keep your mouth shut about it, that's all I can say,
or the fellows will think you're a prig. It was all right when it was
started because the fellows were keen on it themselves, but then the
masters took it up, and of course we had to drop it. We're off bugs in
this shop."

Ishmael digested in silence the profundity of the point of view thus
presented to him, and, according to his habit, quickly made it part of
his practice. For his first weeks at school he kept very silent,
absorbing its traditions and the unwritten laws made by the boys
themselves, on the nice observance of which hung respect and popularity.

The Grammar School of St. Renny was an old-fashioned affair even for
those days, but it had a certain name in a quiet way. It was run on
classical lines, Greek and Latin being considered the only two subjects
worth a gentleman's attention. Botany and entomology were