a longing. But the climbing about the mill,--the play encouraged there
by his uncle and the men,--his uncle's stories within doors, his aunt's
good dinners,--the fire-side, the picture-books, the talk of home,
altogether made up the greatest treat of the half-year. Phil had plenty
of ways of passing the time. Hugh began a long letter home,--the very
last letter, except the short formal one which should declare when the
Christmas vacation should commence. Hugh meant to write half the letter
before Saturday, and then fill it up with an account of his visit to his
uncle's.

The days were passed, however, when Hugh had the command of his leisure
time, as on his arrival, when his hours were apt to hang heavy. He had
long since become too valuable in the playground to be left to follow
his own devices. As the youngest boy, he was looked upon as a sort of
servant to the rest, when once it was found that he was quick and
clever. Either as scout, messenger, or in some such capacity, he was
continually wanted; and often at times inconvenient to himself. He then
usually remembered what Mr. Tooke had told him of his boy, when Tooke
was the youngest,--how he bore things--not only being put on the high
wall, but being well worked in the service of the older boys. Usually
Hugh was obliging, but he could and did feel cross at times. He was
cross on this Friday,--the day when he was so anxious to write his
letter before going to his uncle's. On Saturday there would be no time.
The early mornings were dark now; and after school he should have to
wash and dress, and be off to his uncle's. On Friday then, his paper was
ruled, and he had only to run across the playground to borrow Firth's
penknife, and then nothing should delay his letter.

In that run across the playground he was stopped. He was wanted to
collect clean snow for the boys who were bent on finishing their
snow-man while it would bind. He should be let off when he had brought
snow enough. But he knew that by that time his fingers would be too
stiff to hold his pen; and he said he did not choose to stop now. Upon
this Lamb launched a snow-ball in his face. Hugh grew angry,--or, as his
school-fellows said, insolent. Some stood between him and the house, to
prevent his getting home, while others promised to roll him in the snow
till he yielded full submission. Instead of yielding, Hugh made for the
orchard wall, scrambled up it, and stood for the moment out of the reach
of his