f the boys had assembled, the weather having cleared a
little for the first time for the last two days.

Louis sat down on a chair to think what he should do, and the
long-restrained tears coursed slowly down his face. His first
and best thought was to go at once to Hamilton, acknowledge his
fault, and restore the poem. Then came the idea of renewed disgrace,
and his head sunk lower on his breast, and the parcel fell from his
powerless hands. So intense was his grief, that he was as unconscious
that Dr. Wilkinson passed through the hall while he sat there, as that
he had heard the conversation between himself and Casson; for, unknown
to them both, he had been in a recess of the hall, nearly covered by
the cloaks and coats, looking there for something in a little corner
closet. Louis at last took up the paper, and went to Hamilton's room;
but a servant was there, and he did not like to leave it. Next he
thought of the doctor's study, but he dared not venture to approach
it. At length, after wandering about from the bed-room to the
lass-room door several times, he ventured to peep into the latter
room, and, throwing the parcel in, ran to the playground as fast
as his feet could carry him.

CHAPTER XXII.

"Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law
of Christ."--Gal. vi. 2.

As soon as Hamilton had decided that it was of no use following Louis,
he called his brother to him and marched with him into the class-room,
to explain, according to promise, some classical allusions that occurred
in his Latin grammar. Reginald took his arm, and several of the first
class, who saw them move, accompanied him, for the glass-door opening
at the moment, admitted more cold air than was agreeable to those who
did not feel inclined to visit the playground. They almost expected to
find the doctor in the study, as they knew he had been there a short
time before, but the sole occupant of the chamber was Frank Digby, who,
to the astonishment of all, was standing in a very disconsolate attitude
near the fireplace, leaning his head on the mantelpiece, and neither
moved nor spoke when they entered.

"Holloa, Momus!" exclaimed Reginald, "what's the row? as Salisbury
would say; only, more properly we might ask, in your case, what do
the tranquillity and genteel pensiveness of your demeanor denote?"

"We're going to have a change in the weather," said Jones.

"What's the matter, Frank?" asked Hamilton.

"Nothing," repli