l Hugh did not know whether to cry or to be angry.
After all the pains his mother and sisters had taken about his things,
they were to be found fault with in this way!

When his box was emptied, and his drawer filled, Mrs Watson took him
into the school-room, where the boys were at supper. Outside the door
the buzz seemed prodigious, and Hugh hoped that, in such a bustle,
nobody would notice him. Here he was quite mistaken. The moment he
entered there was a hush, and all eyes were turned upon him, except his
brother's. Phil hardly looked up from his book; but he made room for
Hugh between himself and another boy, and drew the great plate of bread
within reach. Mrs Watson saw that Hugh had his basin of milk; and he
found it a good thing to have something to do while so many eyes were
upon him. He felt that he might have cried if he had not had his supper
to eat.

The usher sat at the top of the table, reading. Mrs Watson called his
attention to Hugh; and Hugh stood up and made his bow. His face was
red, as much with anger as timidity, when he recognised in him the
passenger who had sat beside the coachman.

"Perhaps, Mr Carnaby," said Mrs Watson, "you will find something for
this young gentleman to do, when he has had his supper, while the rest
are learning their lessons. To-morrow he will have his own lessons; but
to-night--"

"There is always the multiplication-table," replied Mr Carnaby. "The
young gentleman is partial to that, I fancy."

Hugh reddened, and applied himself to his bread and milk.

"Never mind a joke," whispered Mrs Watson. "We won't plague you with
the multiplication-table the first evening. I will find you a book or
something. Meantime, there is a companion for you--I forgot that."

The good lady went down the room, and brought back a boy who seemed to
be doing all he could to stop crying. He dashed his hand over his eyes
every minute, and could not look anybody in the face. He had finished
his supper, and was at a loss what to do next, as he had only arrived
that morning, and did not know anybody at Crofton. His name was Tom
Holt, and he was ten years old.

When they had told their names and ages, and where they came from, the
boys did not know what to say next; and Hugh wished Phil would stop
murmuring over his Sallust and looking in the dictionary every minute;
but Mrs Watson did not forget the strangers. She brought them Cook's
Voyages out of the library, to amuse themsel