"We never pamper our boarding pupils," said Socrates, and it is quite
certain that he spoke the truth.

"It spoils boys to be too well treated."

"So it does," said Socrates, eagerly. "Plain, wholesome diet, without
luxury, and a kind, but strict discipline--such are the features of
Smith Institute."

"Quite right and judicious, professor. I may remark that the boy, though
reared in luxury by my brother, is really penniless."

"You don't say so?"

"Yes, he is solely dependent upon my generosity. I propose, however, to
give him a good education at my own expense, and prepare him to earn his
living in some useful way."

"Kind philanthropist!" exclaimed Socrates. "He ought, indeed, to be
grateful."

"I doubt if he will," said Mr. Roscoe, shrugging his shoulders. "He has
a proud spirit, and a high idea of his own position, though he is of
unknown parentage, and has nothing of his own."

"Indeed!"

"I merely wish to say that you do not need to treat him as if he were
my nephew. It is best to be strict with him, and make him conform to the
rules."

"I will, indeed, Mr. Roscoe. Would that all guardians of youth were as
judicious! Your wishes shall be regarded."

After a little more conversation, Allan Roscoe took his leave.

So, under auspices not the most pleasant, Hector's school life began.

CHAPTER VII. THE TYRANT OF THE PLAYGROUND.

Under the guidance of the lank boy, named Wilkins, Hector left Mr.
Smith's office, and walked to a barren-looking plot of ground behind the
house, which served as a playground for the pupils of Smith Institute.

Wilkins scanned the new arrival closely.

"I say, Roscoe," he commenced, "what made you come here?"

"Why do boys generally come to school?" returned Hector.

"Because they have to, I suppose," answered Wilkins.

"I thought they came to study."

"Oh, you're one of that sort, are you?" asked Wilkins, curiously.

"I hope to learn something here."

"You'll get over that soon," answered Wilkins, in the tone of one who
could boast of a large experience.

"I hope not. I shall want to leave school if I find I can't learn here."

"Who is it that brought you here--your father?"

"No, indeed!" answered Hector, quickly, for he had no desire to be
considered the son of Allan Roscoe.

"Uncle, then?"

"He is my guardian," answered Hector, briefly.

They were by this time in the playground. Some dozen boys were playing
baseball. They were of different