ut, while Harry longed, and yet dreaded for him to begin, Mr Prichard
turned and said--

"Well, Campbell, what have you to say for yourself? This morning, I
catch you in the act of copying, or attempting to copy, from Egerton's
paper; and, now, this afternoon, I find you with a book in your
possession, which, you know, you have no business whatever to have. I
suppose this will account for the correctness of your work during the
past half-year? Do you feel very proud of your performance," he added,
sneeringly, "when none of it was your own labour or cleverness?"

Meek-hearted Harry was in tears long before this oration was concluded;
and the streaming face and crimson blushes only tended to confirm Mr
Prichard's conviction of his guilt.

"Please, sir, I wasn't copying off Egerton this morning," sobbed Harry;
"I wasn't copying off him; and it isn't my book. It's--it's--it isn't
mine, sir!"

"It isn't yours, sir?" cried Mr Prichard, indignantly. "Have you the
face to contradict me flatly, sir, and say the book does not belong to
you? Whose name is that?" he cried, holding the delectus-translation,
open at its fly-leaf, to Harry.

And there plain enough it was--_Harry Campbell_.

"No, sir, no; it isn't mine," persisted Harry, through his tears. "It
isn't mine. I never saw it till this morning."

"You are only adding to your wrong conduct, Campbell," said Mr Prichard
very gravely. "It is bad enough for you to take unfair advantage of
your school-fellows; but you make the whole matter ten times worse by
telling a deliberate falsehood. The book is yours. Your name is in
it."

In vain Harry protested his innocence; Mr Prichard remained inexorable.

"You will come with me to Dr Palmer to-morrow," and putting the book
into his pocket, he stalked from the room.

CHAPTER VII.

A BOY FIGHT AT SCHOOL.

Lynch law--At bay--Bully Warburton--Single combat--The deciding
round--Harry is victorious.

If Harry felt heavy-hearted when he started for home that afternoon,
what must he have felt now? Deeper than ever he was plunged in the
trouble from which he knew not how to extricate himself. His thoughts,
however, soon flew to his mother. He knew that there he would find
comfort, that there, at least, he would be believed. So carefully
wiping away all traces of his tears, and putting on as brave a face as
he could, he strapped his books together, and ran down the broad stone
stairs into the lobby.

Fo