very day, too, the value of having an
object in his life, something that drew him out of himself; and, it
being the dull time of the year, and no games going about which he much
cared, was happier than he had ever yet been at school, which was saying
a great deal.

The time which Tom allowed himself away from his charge, was from
locking-up till supper-time. During this hour or hour-and-half he used
to take his fling, going round to the studies of all his acquaintance,
sparring or gossiping in the hall, now jumping the old iron-bound
tables, or carving a bit of his name on them, then joining in some
chorus of merry voices; in fact, blowing off his steam, as we should now
call it.

This process was so congenial to his temper, and Arthur showed himself
so pleased at the arrangement, that it was several weeks before Tom was
ever in their study before supper. One evening, however, he rushed in to
look for an old chisel, or some corks, or other articles essential to
his pursuit for the time being, and while rummaging about in the
cupboards, looked up for a moment, and was caught at once by the figure
of poor little Arthur. The boy was sitting with his elbows on the table,
and his head leaning on his hands, and before him an open book, on
which his tears were falling fast. Tom shut the door at once, and sat
down on the sofa by Arthur, putting his arm round his neck.

"Why, young un! what's the matter?" said he, kindly; "you ain't unhappy,
are you?"

"Oh no, Brown," said the little boy, looking up with the great tears in
his eyes, "you are so kind to me, I'm very happy."

"Why don't you call me Tom? lots of boys do that I don't like half so
much as you. What are you reading, then? Hang it, you must come about
with me, and not mope yourself," and Tom cast down his eyes on the book,
and saw it was the Bible. He was silent for a minute, and thought to
himself, "Lesson Number 2, Tom Brown;"--and then said gently--

"I'm very glad to see this, Arthur, and ashamed that I don't read the
Bible more myself. Do you read it every night before supper while I'm
out?"

"Yes."

"Well, I wish you'd wait till afterwards, and then we'd read together.
But, Arthur, why does it make you cry?"

"Oh, it isn't that I'm unhappy. But at home, while my father was alive,
we always read the lessons after tea; and I love to read them over now,
and try to remember what he said about them. I can't remember all, and I
think I scarcely understand a