at did not respect his ability and
steadiness. Never once, from the first day he came to school, had he
on any occasion incurred the displeasure of his masters; and yet no
one cared for him, for he had lived only for himself.

But to return to Louis. The mathematical contest was finished, and there
was a little lull before the second class would be again called on, and
Louis determined to spend this little interval of leisure in giving a
finishing scrutiny of the history likely to be in demand. Full of his
purposes, he burst into the class-room, where only Hamilton and Reginald
were, the former writing very fast, and the latter looking carefully
over an English essay he had just finished. Louis flew to the shelves
and ransacked them in vain: almost every book he wanted was gone.
At length, in despair, he asked Reginald if he knew who had Rollin's
History. Reginald absently replied in the negative, as he noted down
something in the page he was reading.

"The books are always gone," said Louis, pettishly. "I suppose Charlie
has it. He had it yesterday--he might as well let me have it to-day."

"Trevannion has it, I think," said Reginald.

"You may have mine," said Hamilton.

Louis stood still; he wanted the book very much, but was too proud
to accept the offer.

"It is in my room," continued Hamilton, without looking up.

"Thank you, I don't want _yours_," replied Louis, proudly, walking
out of the room.

As he entered the school-room he confronted Dr. Wilkinson, who, having
given orders for a brisk walk, was inquiring for Hamilton. Louis had
scarcely taken his hand from the lock when Hamilton abruptly opened it
and came quickly out of the room.

"You are the person I want," said the doctor, laying his hand on his
arm. "Hamilton, I want you to come out with me this bright day."

"To-day, sir?" said Hamilton, whose countenance expressed any thing
but delight at the proposition.

"And why put off till to-morrow what may be done to-day so well?"
said the doctor, smiling. "I suppose you have hopes of the weather
making a walk impracticable to-morrow: but I must have you all out,
or some of you will be laid up before you go home."

His eye fell upon Clifton, who was sitting with his elbows on a desk
close by, his fingers pushed through his hair, wholly absorbed in
"_Gibbon's Decline and Fall_." Dr. Wilkinson addressed him twice,
but, producing no impression, he removed one of the props of his
head, and turned hi