hat we're all here for. Now I
should think you'd better go home to your mothers." He returned to his
background, and next term Mr. Pembroke was to take his place.

Such were the themes on which Mr. Pembroke discoursed to Rickie's civil
ear. He showed him the school, and the library, and the subterranean
hall where the day-boys might leave their coats and caps, and where, on
festal occasions, they supped. He showed him Mr. Jackson's pretty house,
and whispered, "Were it not for his brilliant intellect, it would be a
case of Quickmarch!" He showed him the racquet-court, happily completed,
and the chapel, unhappily still in need of funds. Rickie was impressed,
but then he was impressed by everything. Of course a House of day-boys
seemed a little shadowy after Agnes and Gerald, but he imparted some
reality even to that.

"The racquet-court," said Mr. Pembroke, "is most gratifying. We never
expected to manage it this year. But before the Easter holidays every
boy received a subscription card, and was given to understand that he
must collect thirty shillings. You will scarcely believe me, but they
nearly all responded. Next term there was a dinner in the great school,
and all who had collected, not thirty shillings, but as much as a
pound, were invited to it--for naturally one was not precise for a few
shillings, the response being the really valuable thing. Practically the
whole school had to come."

"They must enjoy the court tremendously."

"Ah, it isn't used very much. Racquets, as I daresay you know, is rather
an expensive game. Only the wealthier boys play--and I'm sorry to say
that it is not of our wealthier boys that we are always the proudest.
But the point is that no public school can be called first-class until
it has one. They are building them right and left."

"And now you must finish the chapel?"

"Now we must complete the chapel." He paused reverently, and said, "And
here is a fragment of the original building." Rickie at once had a rush
of sympathy. He, too, looked with reverence at the morsel of Jacobean
brickwork, ruddy and beautiful amidst the machine-squared stones of the
modern apse. The two men, who had so little in common, were thrilled
with patriotism. They rejoiced that their country was great, noble, and
old.

"Thank God I'm English," said Rickie suddenly.

"Thank Him indeed," said Mr. Pembroke, laying a hand on his back.

"We've been nearly as great as the Greeks, I do believe. Greater, I