t
and soul, one of her most loyal and loving sons, speaking of his college
and of the whole university as one who had a right of property in them,
and looking, all the time, not elated, but contented, as if he had found
his sphere and was satisfied. He had seen Cheviot, too, and had been
very happy in the renewed friendship; and had been claimed as a cousin
by a Balliol man, a certain Norman Ogilvie, a name well known among the
Mays. "And how has Tom been getting on?" he asked, when he returned to
home affairs.

"Oh, I don't know," said Ethel. "He will not have my help."

"Not let you help him!" exclaimed Norman.

"No. He says he wants no girls," said Ethel, laughing.

"Foolish fellow!" said Norman. "I wonder what sort of work he has made!"

"Very funny, I should think," said Ethel, "judging by the verses I could
see."

The little, pale, rough-haired Tom, in his perpetual coating of dust,
softly crept into the room, as if he only wanted to elude observation;
but Mary and Blanche were at once vociferating their news in his ears,
though with little encouragement--he only shook them off abruptly, and
would not answer when they required him to be glad.

Norman stretched out his arm, intercepting him as he was making for his
hiding-place behind Dr. May's arm-chair.

"Come, August, how have things gone on?"

"Oh! I don't know."

"What's your place?"

"Thirteenth!" muttered Tom in his throat, and well he might, for two
or three voices cried out that was too bad, and that it was all his own
fault, for not accepting Ethel's help. He took little heed, but crept to
his corner without another word, and Mary knew she should be thumped if
she should torment him there.

Norman left him alone, but the coldness of the little brother for whom
he had worked gave a greater chill to his pleasure than he could have
supposed possible. He would rather have had some cordiality on Tom's
part, than all the congratulations that met him the next day.

He could not rest contented while Tom continued to shrink from him, and
he was the more uneasy when, on Saturday morning, no calls from Mary
availed to find the little boy, and bring him to the usual reading and
Catechism.

Margaret decided that they must begin without him, and poor Mary's verse
was read, in consequence, with a most dolorous tone. As soon as the
books were shut, she ran off, and a few words passed among the elder
ones about the truant--Flora opining that the Anderson