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Title: The Choir School of St. Bede's

Author: Frederick Harrison

Illustrator: E. A. Cook

Release date: February 3, 2019 [eBook #58819]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by MWS, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHOIR SCHOOL OF ST. BEDE'S ***

The Choir School of

St. Bede’s

BY

FREDERICK HARRISON

Author of “Wynport College”

WITH THIRTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY EMILY A. COOK

BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED

LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY

CONTENTS.

CHAP.

Page

I.

THE NEW SOLO-BOY

5

II.

THE FIRST OF APRIL

23

III.

ALFRED AT THE DEANERY

40

IV.

THE KEY TO THE SUMS

50

V.

THE PAPER-CHASE

62

VI.

AT MR. COTTENHAM’S

70

VII.

POLLY AT SCHOOL

82

VIII.

THE OLD PIT

92

THE CHOIR SCHOOL OF

ST. BEDE’S.

CHAPTER I.

THE NEW SOLO-BOY.

IT was a lovely morning, about eleven o’clock, and the boys of the cathedral choir of St. Bede’s were playing in the cloister of the grand old church. There was a square plot of grass in the centre, where the boys used to amuse themselves during the intervals of school-work; when it was wet they would walk round the covered cloister.

One boy, of about eleven years, was standing by himself, looking shyly on without taking any part in the games of the others. He was leaning against a stone pillar, when one of the bigger boys came up to him.

“You’re the new probationer solo-boy, aren’t you?” he demanded.

“Yes,” replied Alfred Davidson, for that was his name.

“Where do you come from?”

“From Darlton.”

“What’s your father?”

“He’s an engineer on a ship.”

“On board of a man-of-war?”

“No; on one of the big ships that go to Australia,” replied Alfred.

“I suppose you think no small cheese of yourself now you’ve got a place in the choir, don’t you?” said the other with a sneer.

“I am very pleased to get into this choir, as I am fond of music, and I hope I shall be an organist some day,” replied Alfred.

“Organist!” laughed the other. “You’ll never be fit for anything except to blow the organ. I suppose you would consider that assistant-organist?”

“Certainly! some people aren’t good enough even for that,” replied Alfred, moving behind the stone pillar.

“Oh, indeed!” said King, “aren’t they?”

He aimed a backhanded slap at Alfred as he spoke, but the latter bobbed his head, and King barked his knuckles.

“That’s your little game, is it?” he exclaimed, and seizing Alfred he shook him and threw him on to the grass, nearly causing another boy, who was stepping backwards, to roll over him. Alfred got up at once and brushed his clothes, and while he was doing so another boy came up and spoke to him.

“What’s up?” he exclaimed.

“I am, now,” replied Alfred, smiling.

“So I see,” said Walter Parker, laughing; “but you were down a moment ago, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Has Herbert King been bullying you because you’ve got the place he wanted his brother to have?”

“I don’t know the name of the boy who pushed me down,” replied Alfred, “but he did not have it all his own way. He went to hit me, and as I ducked my head he knocked his knuckles against the pillar instead.”

“I am glad of it,” said Walter. “It serves him right; he is far too fond of bullying, especially new boys. If I catch him at it I will punch his head again, as I did last week. You tell me if he hits you, and I will square accounts with him. What is your name?”

“Alfred Davidson.”

“Very well, Davidson, I hope we shall be friends. My name is Walter Parker, and I live in Cross Street.”

“So do I,” said Alfred. “I am staying with Mrs. Dawson.”

“I live next door, so we can go home together.”

These few words made Alfred feel quite happy, and at the invitation of his new friend he joined in the game of prisoner’s base. Walter Parker was thirteen years of age, a stout, well-built boy, although not very tall.

Alfred Davidson, although so young, had a voice of wonderful power and sweetness, and having been taught music by his mother for some time, he had at eight entered the choir of the parish church of Darlton, where he had continued his training for some three years. He had just succeeded in obtaining not only a place in the choir by competition, to the exclusion of Herbert King’s younger brother, but even the appointment of a probationer soloist, which was very unusual for so young a boy.

The deputy choir-master, who was also the schoolmaster, called the boys in to work. The room was under the cathedral library, and led out of the cloister.

“Alfred Davidson!” called Mr. Harmer.

“Davidson,” said Walter Parker to him, “‘uncle’ is calling you.”

“Is he your uncle?” inquired Alfred, as he moved out of his seat.

“No,” replied Walter; “but we always call him uncle behind his back.”

“Come here,” said Mr. Harmer; “I want to examine you, to see in which division I can place you.”

Alfred answered the questions put to him sufficiently well to be placed in the first division.

“I hope, Davidson, you will work well, so that I may be able to keep you in this division. If not, of course I shall put you down into the second. You can go back to your seat again.”

Walter Parker assisted Mr. Harmer by taking the youngest and the most backward boys. Herbert King was his equal as far as knowledge went, but the master had chosen Walter in preference to King, as he was more patient and careful in the work. These two boys were the principal soloists, but as King’s voice was beginning to show signs of breaking, it was necessary to have another boy in training, ready to take his place later on. King had hoped that his brother would obtain a place in the choir, but the organist, Dr. Phillips, and Mr. Young, the precentor (one of the clergy who assist in directing the musical services), had both chosen Alfred to fill the vacancy. This was one reason why King felt anything but friendly towards the newcomer.

As the boys were going home, one of them, Stephen Gray, filled a paper bag with water at the school tap, unseen by Alfred, who was slowly sauntering along.

“What are you going to do with that?” inquired Walter Parker.

“Wait and see,” replied Steve, running on and calling out to Alfred. “Davidson!”

“What do you want?” replied Alfred.

“Can you catch?”

“I think so.”

“Then catch this,” said Steve, throwing the bag as he spoke.

Alfred, being quite unused to the tricks of schoolboys—choir-boys are not a bit different from other boys—attempted to catch the bag, and the moment it reached his hands the water spurted all over his face and clothes. He was too much surprised to say anything, and Steve, who was a good-natured boy, after laughing at the success of his joke, wiped him with his handkerchief, and accompanied him and Walter, as he lived near them.

When Alfred had finished his tea he wrote home a long letter to his mother and sister, trying to make them feel quite happy about him. He hoped that in a few days he should like all the boys as much as he liked Walter and Stephen. Mrs. Dawson was very kind to him, and he went to bed feeling hopeful and happy.

The next morning, as he was walking up to the cathedral, the Rev. Mr. Young, the precentor, met him.

“You are the new boy, are you not?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied Alfred.

“How are you getting on, my boy?”

“Very well, sir, thank you.”

“I shall inquire from time to time of Mr. Harmer to see how you progress in your work, and if you do well in your Latin, later on I will teach you Greek, if you think you would care to learn it.”

“Thank you, sir; I should very much like to.”

“Your name is Davidson, is it not?”

“Yes, sir, Alfred Davidson.”

“Well, Davidson, stick to your work and be a good boy. My old college friend is vicar of Darlton, and knows your mother well, so I shall feel an extra interest in you, and he can tell your mother, when I write to him, how you get on with your work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now run on and join your fellow-choristers. As you are early, you will have a quarter of an hour for play before work.”

Alfred raised his cap and ran away to catch his new friends, Walter and Stephen. They met Herbert King and three other boys, who joined them, and walked up to a large open space near the cathedral, where they played cricket and football. It was a very pretty place. There were several large trees, and close by ran the river, on which some of the boys used to row, as the father of one of the choristers owned boats, and let them out.

“Can you play football, Davidson?” asked King.

“No—that is, not much,” replied Alfred.

“He will be on our side,” exclaimed Walter. “He will soon learn.”

The game began. It was near the end of March, so they had not yet commenced cricket, as the weather had been too wet and cold. Alfred was put among the forwards, and being a very quick runner, succeeded in shooting a goal for his side.

“It was off-side,” exclaimed King angrily.

“No it wasn’t,” replied Walter.

“You always say ‘off-side’ when we score a goal,” said Stephen Gray; “but if you kick one it is always quite fair.”

“Very well, have your own way,” replied King, moving off to kick the ball.

The game then became very exciting. King seemed on the point of scoring a goal for his side, when Alfred cleverly got the ball away, and carried it right down the field into the enemy’s quarters. King did not say anything, but there was an angry look on his face. Shortly afterwards Alfred was violently pushed from the back and sent off the grass on to the gravel path, where he lay for a few moments, too much shaken to move.

“Foul!” shouted Stephen. “You know, King, that isn’t fair.”

“What do you mean?” exclaimed King in a passion. “Do you dare to say I cheat?”

“Yes,” replied Steve fearlessly. “You pushed Davidson down on purpose; I saw you.”

“Then take that,” exclaimed King, aiming at Steve a blow, which he dodged, and in return hit out.

Alfred had got up, but his hands and face were bleeding from the scratches. The other boys had gone on with the game and had not noticed the disturbance. Steve was goal-keeper, while Walter was playing centre forward and was making a dash for the goal. Alfred wiped his face and hands with his handkerchief, and although he was hurt, was going forward to rejoin the game, when he saw Steve hit King back. King was a bigger boy than Steve, but the latter was not afraid of him.

“You dare to hit me!” said King. “I’ll give you one for yourself.”

“No, you won’t,” exclaimed Walter, running up; “it’s football we’re playing, not boxing. What’s all this row about?”

Stephen had not time to answer, as the school bell rang, and the boys had to run in. Alfred dipped his handkerchief in some water at the school tap and wiped his face and hands.

“Boys,” said Mr. Harmer, directly after calling over the names, “I have something to say to you. First, I hear that some of you are in the habit of playing near the old pit-mouth; in fact I have been told that you go down it with a rope, and sometimes play in it. I must forbid your doing so, as it is very dangerous. You know it was a coal-mine, but has been closed for several years, and in all probability there is a great quantity of water at the bottom after the rain. The ground also might at any time fall in, as it has done before. The second thing is, that you must not row on the river near the weir, as it is dangerous even for a good rower. You may go up the river above the bridge as far as you like, as the water is not very deep and the current is not strong. Now get your books.”

Alfred was busily engaged in doing his sums, and not noticing anything or anybody else, when Harry Cox asked him to help him, as he was very bad at figures. Alfred showed him how to do the practice sums and some decimals, and then finished his own.

“Cox,” said the master, “bring up your work.”

Cox took up his book and showed it to Mr. Harmer.

“These are much better, Cox, than usual,” said Mr. Harmer. “Did you do them all alone, or did anyone help you?”

“I did them, sir, all alone,” replied Harry promptly.

“I thought I saw you talking to Davidson just now.”

“Yes, sir, but it was not about the sums.”

“Oh, indeed!” replied the master, as if he did not altogether believe what Cox said. “You can go back to your seat.”

When the boys met again, before afternoon school, Cox came up to Alfred.

“Look here, Davidson,” he said, “if Mr. Harmer asks you about my sums at any time, mind you just keep your mouth shut.”

“And supposing I shouldn’t?” inquired Alfred.

“Then I shall punch your head after school,” replied Cox.

“Then punch away!” exclaimed Alfred, darting round a lamp-post.

Cox ran after him to carry out Alfred’s suggestion, when the latter dodged round a man walking along the street, and Cox, not being quite quick enough, charged the stranger before he could stop himself.

“Take that!” exclaimed the irritated man, giving Cox a hearty box on the ears, which made them sing for some minutes.

Meanwhile Alfred had run on and reached the school before Cox had any chance of catching him.

“Cox, come here!” exclaimed Mr. Harmer, when the school was reassembled.

Cox promptly went up.

“I wish you to do those two sums again that you did this morning,” said the master. “Sit down there where I can see you.”

Cox sat down, knowing very well that he could not do the sums alone. Alfred heard this, and felt almost as uncomfortable as Cox himself. While he was writing out some parsing in English, a small piece of paper was put into his hand. He opened it.

Just do those sums again for me or I shall split on you.—H. C.

“What are you doing, Davidson?” demanded the master.

“Someone put a piece of paper in my hand, sir,” replied Alfred.

“Give it to me.”

Alfred took it up to his master.

“You wrote this, Cox?” said Mr. Harmer.

“No, sir,” replied Harry Cox quickly, and then stammered out: “I mean yes, sir.”

“You told me a lie then when you said you had not been assisted?”

Harry Cox turned very red and said nothing. It was useless for him to deny it.

“I am perfectly well aware that you had been assisted. For telling me an untruth I shall give you six sums extra to do; and if I find you out in another lie, I shall cane you. Davidson, as you are not a teacher here, I shall be obliged to you if you will confine your attention to your own work. If the boys require assistance, either Walter Parker or myself will help them. As you are a new boy, I will say nothing more this time, but don’t do it again.”

Alfred looked somewhat foolish, but not so much so as Cox, who was less grieved at his fault than at being found out and punished.

Several of the boys had arranged to have an hour on the river later in the day, and as Alfred was running off to join his new friends, Walter Parker and Steve Gray, King met him.

“Davidson, come here,” he cried out. “Where are you off to?”

“The boats,” replied Alfred, without stopping.

King soon overtook him, and giving him a slap on the face, exclaimed:

“Take that, you little sneak! Now you can go and tell ‘uncle’ that virtue has been rewarded.”

Alfred ran away again as quickly as he could, and found Walter and Steve waiting for him in a boat. They were going to row, while he was to steer.

“What makes your face so red on one side?” asked Steve.

“It was hit.”

“Who did it? Herbert King, I suppose?” demanded Walter.

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“He said I was a sneak.”

“When we meet him again we’ll give him one back,” exclaimed Steve, who had not yet settled his own quarrel with King.

They rowed up the river for about half an hour, and then pulled the boat up to the side of the bank and got out their fishing-rods. Although it was still the month of March the weather was quite warm. They fished in silence for some time, when a second boat came up with King and three other boys in it.

“You don’t mean to say, Parker,” exclaimed King, “that you have let that little sneak come with you?”

“He isn’t a little sneak,” retorted Walter. “What did you hit him for? He only spoke the truth, as I should have done in his place.”

“Sneaking, of course,” replied King, splashing the water so as to disturb their fishing.

“Stop that!” cried Steve.

“Make me!” replied King, pulling away and splashing more than ever.

“All right!” said Walter, “I’ll make you pay for that!”

“When?” demanded King, rowing off.

“To-morrow, if you’ll come to the green early,” replied Walter, who was now thoroughly angry.

After they had gone, Walter and Steve fished for some time, but caught nothing, so they put their rods away and began to row gently back. They heard a shout, and saw the other boat coming after them as fast as the boys could pull it.

“Come, Steve!” cried Walter; “don’t let them catch us up; pull away!”

“All right, Walter,” replied Steve, “I’ll back you up!”

The boat moved quickly through the water, but, after a few minutes, the other began to gain on them. They pulled as hard as they could, when they heard a noise, and saw that one of the boys in the other boat had caught a crab and had lost his oar. They were near the bridge, where the water was deep, and the current, being narrowed in width, ran more quickly. Steve and Walter shot through the middle arch and left off rowing.

“Walter,” cried out Steve, “they haven’t got a rudder, and are drifting against the bridge!”

“Look out, King,” shouted Walter, “or you’ll be dashed against the bridge!”

King turned his head round, and in a moment saw the danger which threatened his boat; it was rapidly drifting nearly broadside towards the centre pier of the bridge. If it struck it, there was every probability of its being capsized. He began to pull vigorously with his one oar, when it snapped, and, with a grating noise, the boat struck the bridge.

“Sit still all of you,” shouted King, “or you’ll have the boat over!”

Standing up, he held tightly to the bridge, while Walter and Steve turned their boat round and pulled hard against the stream to their help.

“Don’t stir!” cried King, as one of the boys in fear tried to clutch hold of the pier. “If you move we shall all be in the water.”

Walter and Steve pulled through the next arch, and, coming close to the boat, Alfred laid hold of the stern of it while they rowed. In a few minutes they had drawn the second boat up the stream, clear of the bridge; then, again pulling round, they fastened it behind theirs, shot the bridge, and soon reached the landing-stage.

“That was a near shave, King,” said Walter.

King knew it, although he did not answer. He was pale, and directly they landed he ran off to his home, hardly thanking them for their timely assistance.

CHAPTER II.

THE FIRST OF APRIL.

IT was the first day of April, and a lovely morning, as Alfred was strolling slowly to school. In the distance he saw Cox and King talking earnestly together, and as he came near they took out some coppers and counted them. Since the boat accident they had been less unfriendly, and often walked to school with him.

“Davidson,” said King, “I wish you would just get us something from Mr. Cottenham’s; there’s a good fellow. Here’s a piece of paper with the names of the things written down, so you need only give it to him. Here’s threepence to pay for them. We will wait here for you.”

Alfred read the paper. On it was written: 1d. of pidgon’s milk in a peny vile, and 1d. of strongest strap-oil for the barer for his trouble.

“You wrote this, Cox, didn’t you?” inquired Alfred, smiling the smile of the innocent.

“Yes; why do you ask? It’s written plain enough, isn’t it?” asked Cox.

“Yes, it’s plain enough, and I can read it all right.”

“Then what do you want to know for?”

“Because the spelling is not right. P-i-g-e-o-n spells pigeon, and a bottle is vial not vile, and bearer is spelt with an e in it.”

“Any more mistakes?” said Cox angrily. “It was a bad pen I’d got, and I should like to know how anyone can be expected to spell with a rotten old nib.”

Cox’s weakness in spelling was a cause of many impositions at school, as Mr. Harmer made him write out ten times every word which was not correctly spelt.

“Come, youngster,” said King, “will you take this to Mr. Cottenham’s, or won’t you? If you won’t, I can go myself.”

“I will go with pleasure,” said Alfred, pleased to do anything for anyone at any time, especially for those with whom he now hoped to make friends.

“Here’s the money,” said Cox, winking at King. “Mind you tell Mr. Cottenham that the strap-oil is for yourself—for your trouble in getting the things.”

“Thank you,” replied Alfred, “but I don’t want to be paid for doing a little thing like that.”

“All right, Davidson!” said Cox; “you did us a good turn the other day, and so I want to pay you back for it, you see.”

“Thanks, very much,” said Alfred amicably, running off to the chemist’s shop, which was quite near.

Mr. Cottenham was a very big man, with a very big moustache and a very big voice; but withal a very jolly man and very popular with everybody. He was standing in his shop, whistling a merry tune and talking to his gray parrot, when Alfred came in. He knew Mr. Cottenham by sight, as he was often in the cathedral, being very fond of music. As he walked into the shop, the parrot gave a whistle and a scream, and said: “Shop! you’re wanted!”

Alfred looked at the parrot and laughed.

“Do you want a pill?” said the bird, and then it whistled again, and sighed in a very natural manner. “Come, Joe, hurry up!” continued the parrot.

“All right, Poll!” said Mr. Cottenham, “I will. You are one of the choir-boys, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Alfred, “Will you kindly let me have these things? The strap-oil is for myself, for the trouble of bringing the note.”

“Let me see. What is to-day?”

“The first of April, sir.”

“So I should imagine. I often get orders like yours on this day.”

Mr. Cottenham enjoyed a joke as much as anyone, and nothing pleased him more than to turn a joke against those who tried to victimize others. He gave Alfred some nice jujubes, saying that that was the best form of strap-oil for taking. Then he got a small bottle, and put something into it which smelt like very strong onions, and to this he added some liquid like water, also with a very strong odour. Then all the liquid became milky.

“Phew!” whistled the bird, and added: “Cork it up.”

Alfred could not help laughing at the droll sayings of the parrot, which seemed so suitable.

“Can you whistle?” said Poll, giving a loud shrill whistle.

“Here you are, my boy,” said Mr. Cottenham, smiling, “give this to the boy who sent you.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Alfred.

“Stop!” screamed out Poll.

Alfred stopped.

“What’s the time?” said Poll; and then it laughed just like a human being.

Mr. Cottenham went to the door and watched the boys.

“Here’s the pigeon’s milk,” said Alfred, handing Cox the bottle.

Cox tore the paper off and saw the milky liquid, and eagerly pulled out the cork to smell it. It was so strong, that he jerked the contents over King’s coat.

“He laughs loudest who laughs last,” said Mr. Cottenham, smiling. “That joke has cost you threepence, at all events.”

The boys ran off quickly, and turned round the corner of the street before they stopped.

“What a little fool you are,” said King, “to bring that stinking stuff! I must wash my coat or it will smell in the cathedral.”

King rubbed his jacket with his moistened handkerchief, but he could not get rid of the smell.

Now it happened that his seat was close to the dean’s, and as they were returning from morning service, walking down the cloisters, the dean called to one of the boys to send King to him.

He went at once.

“How dare you eat strong onions just before a service?” demanded the dean, who had been head-master of one of the big public schools. “Once a schoolmaster always a schoolmaster,” which means that when a man has been a schoolmaster, he always treats every one afterwards, whether men or boys, just as if they were schoolboys under him.

“If you please, sir, I haven’t been eating onions,” replied King.

“How dare you stand there and tell me such an untruth?” said the dean. “Do you suppose I cannot smell? I say you have been eating onions, and the odour is very nasty indeed.”

“Please, sir, I have not really eaten any onions,” said King.

“What! Do you persist in telling me such a falsehood. You shall be punished at once. Mr. Harmer!”

“Yes, sir,” said the master.

“Give this boy at once a good caning. He has dared to tell me a lie and persist in it.”

As the dean said this, he walked away.

When Mr. Harmer was about to cape King, the boy said he really had not been eating onions.

“I can smell them,” said the master.

“That’s something I’ve got on my coat,” replied King.

“How did you get it on your coat?”

King explained, but the master caned him all the same, saying it served him right for playing practical jokes on a little boy. King felt very angry with Alfred, as if he had been the cause of his punishment.

It would be well for all boys, when they are going to play jokes on others, to think how they would like them if turned against themselves.

As Alfred was going home in the afternoon with Steve, Mr. Cottenham was standing at his door and called out to them as they passed.

“Come here,” he said, “I want to speak to you for a few minutes.”

They went up to him. Alfred readily guessed why he wanted them.

“What is your name?” he asked Alfred.

“Alfred Davidson.”

“Well, Alfred, how did your friends like the pigeon’s milk?”

“Not much, sir. Herbert King got into a row over it,” replied Steve laughingly. “He even got caned.”

Steve told him about the dean being angry, because he did not like the smell of onions, and would not believe what King said; also that Mr. Harmer would not listen to his excuse, but had caned him, and said he deserved it, for playing practical jokes.

“King is very angry with Alfred now, sir,” continued Steve, “because he thinks it was all through him that he got into such a row, and he says he will be even with him yet.”

“It served him right,” remarked Mr. Cottenham, laughing loudly; “he has sent boys here before on fools’ errands, but I don’t think he will do so again.”

“Come, come,” said Poll, “where’s the bottle?”

“Do you know these boys again?” said Mr. Cottenham, rubbing the bird’s head.

“Look out!” said Poll.

“That’s a very clever bird, Mr. Cottenham,” said Steve.

“Yes, it is,” replied the chemist, “and I got it in a Very peculiar way. If you can come and have tea with me, I will tell you a short story of how I got Poll.”

“Thank you, sir! We will just run home and ask, and be back in less than ten minutes,” said Steve.

Away ran the two boys, and in much less than ten minutes they were back again.

“Wipe your boots!” said the parrot. “Come, Joe, hurry up!”

A lady entered, so the boys waited a few minutes while Mr. Cottenham attended to her. They looked at the parrot, who kept turning its head, first to one side and then to the other, chuckling as it did so.

Mr. Cottenham told them to go into his parlour at the back of the shop; behind it was a large garden, which ran down to the river. The chemist was very fond of gardening; his garden was always neat and trim, and full of flowers, according to the season of the year. There was a door which opened from the parlour into the garden, and they could see a dog chained up. It was a big collie, and it wagged its tail when it saw Steve.

“Rover,” called Steve to the dog through the open window, “good doggie!” Rover barked and frisked about.

Stephen Gray’s father was an intimate friend of Mr. Cottenham, and Steve had often had tea with him. Mr. Cottenham was a bachelor, and his chief companion was his parrot. He was very fond of music, and played the fiddle well, and he usually assisted when there was a grand festival at the cathedral. Stephen Gray’s father was a solo-bass in the choir, and also played the violoncello.

Mr. Cottenham brought in Poll, took it out of its cage, and put it on the bar of its stand, when it began to chatter again.

“Poor Poll wants some cake. Oh dear! oh dear! where’s the sugar?” said the bird.

“Now, Poll,” observed the chemist, “you must not talk, as I don’t want to be interrupted.”

“Poor Poll wants some cake,” said the bird.

“Then Poll shall have some,” said Mr. Cottenham, picking out a piece, while the bird watched every movement. “Now, Poll, draw a cork, and then you shall have this piece of cake.”

Poll made a wonderful imitation of the popping of a cork and the gurgling sound of liquid being poured out.

“Now, Poll, sneeze!” said its master.

Poll jumped up and down, and sneezed, and then laughed exactly like a human being. Mr. Cottenham’s parrot was known for miles round, and children would come to his shop on purpose to hear it talk.

A customer entered the shop, and Poll called out “Shop!” Mr. Cottenham went, and returned in a few minutes.

The boys had a hearty tea. “Now, would you like to hear how it was I bought Poll?” said their host.

“Yes, sir, very much,” said both of the boys.

“It was seven years ago last autumn, when I was out some distance from here, going for a walk across country. I am very fond of a good walk, and often go out all day when I take a holiday. It was very hot, and so I had my big white umbrella, as I don’t care what people think or say. I like to be comfortable if I can. It was rather difficult on that day to feel very comfortable, though, as the sun was shining not only brightly, but nearly as hot as I have felt it in India.”

“Have you been in India, sir?” asked Steve.

“Yes, Steve, I was in a government medical store for five years when I was quite a young man. Well, I have never felt in India so hot as I felt on that particular day. I like warm weather, and feel as lively as a kitten when it is hot. What are you laughing at? You think I am rather too big to be a kitten?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Steve, laughing, “just a little bit.”

“Well, then, I will say as lively as an elephant. They can be lively at times; for you must not judge of an elephant by what you see in a circus procession in this cold country. To return to my tale. I was just a bit too hot to feel as lively as a kitten or an elephant on that particular day, but still I was enjoying myself. I had my dinner at a country inn, and then walked into a wood and lay down, and went fast asleep. When I woke up I found that it was getting late, so I determined to take a short cut across the country to the railway-station, and save about two miles. I got up and walked on for some time, when the sky became overcast, and it got darker and darker. In fact, it was nearly as dark as night, and I had great difficulty in tracing out the right path. I had left the high-road for some time, and felt certain that I could not mistake the direction, as I had been twice before by the same way. After walking for an hour, a few big spots of rain fell. I knew that there would be a thunderstorm soon, and so I got out into the open country, as it is dangerous to walk near trees.”

“So I have heard father say,” remarked Alfred. “He has told me if ever I should be overtaken by a thunderstorm never to get near a tree, but to lie down in the open, if there are no houses near.”

“You are quite right, Alfred,” said Mr. Cottenham. “There is rarely any danger if you do so. Mind you never get into a cart-shed where the front is all open, if there are any iron implements such as a plough in it. Lightning always strikes the highest object, or one which is a good conductor.”

“What is that, sir?”

“A good conductor is something, Alfred, through which electricity can easily pass. For instance, glass will not let electricity pass through it, but wire, whether it is copper or iron, will readily conduct it. You know that lightning is electricity from the clouds.”

“Yes, sir,” said Steve, who wished him to continue the tale, not being so desirous of gaining knowledge as his younger friend.

“Let me see; what was I saying?” observed Mr. Cottenham.

“You said, sir, that you got out in the open when you heard the thunder,” replied Steve, readily, lest Alfred should ask any more questions about storms.

“Yes, I remember. The rain now fell in torrents. I was wet through and through. The lightning was very vivid, and the thunder almost as loud as in India. It was, for England, a terrible storm. I had completely lost my way, and walked on, not knowing at all where I was going. I looked in vain in all directions for a house or cottage of any kind, in which I could rest a while, as, although I am a fair walker, I was very tired. The storm became a little less severe for a few minutes, but then it came on worse than ever. The rain again poured, and I was almost blinded by the lightning. Suddenly I heard a loud whistle, and a voice called out—‘Look out!’ I paused, and stood still a moment, when a very bright flash lighted up all around. Imagine my surprise and horror when I saw that I was on the very edge of a deep old mine. One more step, and I must have been killed. For a moment I stood still, looking at the dark pit, then I felt very thankful for such a providential escape, and looked round to see who had called out and thus saved my life. I could see no one; but another flash of lightning showed me a cottage only a few yards off. I went to it, and after knocking at the door, was let in. I asked if I might stay until the storm left off. They said ‘Yes’, at once, and gave me some supper and dried my coat. While I was eating the food, the wife said to her husband, ‘Where’s Polly?’ ‘Outside, I suppose,’ he replied. ‘I had quite forgotten her.’ He went out and brought in a gray parrot, which was wet through. No sooner did Poll come in than it began to shake its feathers, and, putting its head on one side, while it looked at me, said ‘Look out!’ I knew that it was the parrot’s timely warning that had saved my life, and so I determined to buy it. I gave the miner five pounds for it, and I would not sell it for fifty pounds. Now you know, boys, why I value Polly so much, and should still value it, even if it could not speak so well.”

Polly had been listening very intently, and when Mr. Cottenham had finished, it said, “Look out!”

“Yes, Poll,” said its master, “I did look out, or I should not be here to say so, eh?”

As he stroked his pet, the bird perched on his shoulder and ate a piece of sugar out of his hand; then it rested on one foot, and blinked its eyes, as if ready to go to sleep.

“Polly is ready for bed,” said the bird, and away it flew off to its place for the night, which was on a shelf, and it was soon asleep.

The boys thanked Mr. Cottenham for his tale, and for their tea, and accepted an invitation to come again another day, and bring Walter Parker with them.

CHAPTER III.

ALFRED AT THE DEANERY.

WHEN Alfred was on his way to school in the afternoon, he saw King and Cox a little way ahead, so he ran after them.

“King,” he said, “I am so sorry that you got into a row yesterday. I did not know what pigeon’s milk was, or I should have told you.”

As he said this he held out his hand, as he wanted to be friends with all the boys if possible.

“We don’t want you, you young sneak, so clear off, or I shall give you some strap-oil of the right sort,” exclaimed King, who was very angry.

Alfred moved away, and was soon afterwards joined by his friends Steve and Walter. Steve had just been telling Walter all about Mr. Cottenham’s clever parrot, and how it had saved his life.

“Alfred, what were you talking to King about?” inquired Walter.

“I only told him how sorry I was that he had been punished through me, and that I wanted to shake hands and be friends,” replied Alfred.

“Through you! It served him right,” said Walter; “he is far too fond of bullying boys who are smaller than he is. I am very glad that he will be leaving at midsummer.”

“So am I,” said Steve; “I never did like him, and he has never liked me. He always was fond of playing jokes on new boys. Last year, in May, he persuaded a boy to climb over an orchard-wall to get him some apples. The silly boy came from a big town, and he did not know that there is no fruit on the trees until the autumn, so over the wall he went. A man caught him and beat him, and when the boy told King of it he only laughed at him.”

“The boy is Francis Day; you know him, Alfred, he sits opposite you,” said Walter.

“Yes; he is a very quiet boy, isn’t he? He always does his work well.”

While they were in school, Alfred forgot all about King and Cox, and worked well at his tasks. Cox sat close to him, and was doing some sums. He did the same as Alfred, and seemed to be quite as hard at work.

Dr. Phillips entered.

“Mr. Harmer,” he said, “can you spare, for a few minutes, two of the boys?”

“Certainly, Dr. Phillips,” replied the master; “which of them do you want?”

“I want two boys to sing some solos at an ‘At Home’ which the dean is going to give shortly, and he said he would like to hear their songs now, as he will be going to London to-night for several days. I think I should prefer Parker and Davidson. King, I am afraid your voice is breaking, and you would not be able to sing the high notes with certainty.”

King turned red and looked very much disappointed. Dr. Phillips was a very clever musician, and trained the boys not only with great skill, but also with great patience. They all liked him, and Alfred’s ambition was to be an organist such as he was. Alfred could play the piano very well for a boy, and the reason why he had made such satisfactory progress was because he practised regularly. When his mother used to tell him to practise an hour twice a day, instead of grumbling and doing it very badly he did his best, and he was glad now that he had done so, as Mr. Harmer said he might play on the school harmonium if he liked, and he would help him. Mr. Harmer also was a very good organist; he had sometimes played the organ when Dr. Phillips was away, or conducting an orchestra.

Alfred was very pleased and very proud when he heard his name mentioned, but Cox looked as much disappointed as King.

“Parker and Davidson, you can go with Dr. Phillips,” said Mr. Harmer.

“I am afraid I shall not be able to send them back, Mr. Harmer, until after service,” said Dr. Phillips.

“Very good, there is only the writing lesson and dictation after they have done their sums, and they both spell very well,” replied the master.

Alfred and Walter went with Dr. Phillips, and were led into the dean’s drawing-room, where there were several ladies.

“These are the boys, Mr. Dean,” said Dr. Phillips.

Both boys stood shyly near the door, but the dean’s daughter came and shook hands with them, and told them to take a seat near the piano, while she played over the accompaniment. She was so pretty and so kind that Alfred soon got over his shyness, and sang the pieces which she wished him to try, very well.

“He has a very powerful voice for so small a boy,” remarked the dean. “He is training for a solo-boy, is he not?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Dr. Phillips, “and I think he will be one of the best I have ever had in the choir.”

The ladies were all very much pleased with his clear voice, and asked him many questions about his parents and his home.

“I shall want you both to sing at my ‘At Home’, and also at a concert we are arranging in connection with the missionary society,” said the dean’s daughter. “I hope you are both good boys at school.”

“We try to be so—at least, sometimes we do, ma’am,” said Walter.

“I think, Miss Rivers,” said Dr. Phillips, “they are very good boys, that is, for boys.”

“What did you say your father was?” an elderly lady asked Alfred.

“An engineer, ma’am,” replied Alfred.

“My husband is one of the directors of that line,” she remarked, after asking him on what ship his father was serving, “and I remember his mentioning a very clever piece of work your father did when some of the machinery went wrong. My husband was on board at the time, and during a terrible storm some part of the engine broke down. I do not know what part it was, as I do not understand engines, although I ought to, as my husband is so often talking about them. Your father, at the risk of his life, repaired the engine, and saved not only the ship, but the passengers also. Where is your father now?”

“He went a few weeks ago, ma’am, on another voyage,” replied Alfred. “This is his first voyage for more than six months, as he has been very ill. He got hurt, ma’am, in that storm, but he’s better now.”

“My husband also has been ill since; so much so, that he is only just able now to resume his duties. He is going to ask the other directors to reward your father for his bravery and skill. What does your mother do?”

“She has been teaching at a school while father was ill, as we had no money left, ma’am.”

“Can it be possible? How neglectful we have been! My husband always intended that your father should be rewarded, but while you have been so badly off, we have been thinking of ourselves only. I must write down your address, and my husband and I will call and see your mother this week. I hope your father is quite well now.”

“He isn’t quite well, ma’am, but he is better, and said he thought the voyage would do him good.”

“I hope it will, I am sure,” replied the lady. “Here, take this, little boy, and give that to the other boy.”

“This” was half-a-crown. Alfred looked at it with surprise. He had never had more than a shilling at a time to spend, and thought himself quite rich with that amount. How happy he felt when he pictured what he could buy with it for his mother and for Maggie, who was three years older than he!

“Now, boys,” said Dr. Phillips, “we must be moving, or we shall be late for service. You are taking the solo, aren’t you, Parker?”

“Yes, sir.”

The boys went away with Dr. Phillips, and Alfred thought he had never enjoyed a service so much before; he certainly had never sung better.

When the service was over, the boys went home, as there were no more lessons that day.

“Steve,” said Walter, as they were walking from the cathedral, “we’ve been in luck.”

“What’s that?” asked Steve.

“We’ve had half-a-crown each given to us by a lady at the deanery.”

“Why don’t you buy an induction-coil now at Mr. Cottenham’s?—you’ve got batteries—and then we can do some experiments.”

“All right!” said Walter, “I am game. You had better buy one as well, Alfred, and then we can make a very strong current.”

Alfred did not reply, and away they ran as quickly as they could to spend the money.

Mr. Cottenham was not in the shop, so the parrot whistled and called out “Shop!”

Mr. Cottenham came in.

“Well, boys, what do you want?”

“One of those half-crown induction-coils, please, sir.”

He got one out for them, and soon showed Walter how to use it. Walter was very fond of science, and all his spare pocket-money was spent with Mr. Cottenham, who not only encouraged the boy, but helped him, and gave him quite as much as he bought.

“Well, Alfred, do you want one too?” he inquired, seeing the half-crown in the boy’s hand.

“No, thank you, sir.”

“What are you going to do with your money? Put it in the savings-bank, eh?”

“No, sir; I am going to send it home to mother.”

“That’s right, Alfred.”

“Do you want a pill?” said Poll, who had been watching the boys very intently without speaking.

The coil having been bought, the boys were just going away, when Mr. Cottenham invited them all to come the following evening to tea, promising to show them some experiments in chemistry and electricity.

“Thank you, sir,” replied Walter, his eyes beaming with pleasure. “We will all come as early as we can. Good-evening, sir!”

“Stop!” cried out Poll.

“No, thank you, Polly,” said Walter, laughing.

“We haven’t much home-work, Walter,” said Steve, “can we come in and see your electrical apparatus to-night?”

“Yes, do; you come also, Alfred.”

“Thank you, Walter; I should very much like to come.”

Later in the evening the two boys were watching Walter, who had made some mechanical toys, which he worked with his batteries. There were two windmills, a pump, and a small engine. Walter wanted to be an electrical engineer or a chemist. He gave them some shocks with his coil.

“I say, Walter,” exclaimed Steve, “what a lark it would be to put your batteries on to the door-handle, so when the boys tried to open the door they would get a tremendous shock!”

“Yes,” replied Walter; “I have never thought of that. We will take them to-morrow. You can carry one, while I take the other with the coils.”

Then they separated for the night.

CHAPTER IV.

THE KEY TO THE SUMS.

THE next morning Alfred got up very early to write a letter to his mother and tell her all the news, and at the same time send the half-crown. He had stayed longer than he intended with Walter, and had to go to bed directly he came in. He sat down in his bedroom with his pen and ink and wrote with letters very well formed, but rather big, the following letter:—

My own dearest Mother and Maggie,—

I am getting on ever so nicely, and I like all the boys except two, who don’t like me. There names are King and Cox. (He paused here and scratched his head. He thought “there” did not look quite right; he was not quite sure whether he ought to have put “their”, so he smudged the last two letters and then went on.) I like Steve and Walter ever so much, and Mr. Cottenham had us to tea yesterday, and we are going their to-morrow. (Again Alfred hesitated. He knew that there were two ways of spelling the word, “there” and “their”, but could not remember for some time which was which. Then he went back again and altered the words, wondering how he could be so silly. The first word he altered with a big blot, and put “their”, and the second “there”. Again he continued.) He has bought a coil with half-a-crown, but I have sent mine to you, because I knew you would be pleased. A lady gave us both each half-a-crown. She is coming to see you. Her husband was in the ship when father mended the engin, and he is going to get father a reward for saving his life. The parrot saved Mr. Cottenham’s life, and he likes it very much. It is very clever, and can talk just like a real man or boy. It says funny things. I am just going to have my brekfast, and I am going off to school with them, and they are going to take their batterys with them there, so no more now.

Your loving son and brother,

ALFIE.

Then there were a number of crosses to signify kisses, and quite as many blots and smudges, which Alfred did not mean to signify anything in particular.

If Mr. Harmer had seen the letter he would have told Alfred that “breakfast” is the way to spell the word, and that when words end in “y” with a consonant before the “y”, you must change the “y” into “ies” for the plural. For a small boy Alfred usually spelt very well except when he was careless.

There was a post-office at Mr. Cottenham’s, for the general post-office was a long way off, so after breakfast Alfred went into his shop to buy a stamp with one of the few pennies he had.

“Please, sir, will you give me a penny stamp?” he said, putting a bright penny on the counter.

“Certainly, I will give you one, Alfred,” replied Mr. Cottenham. “Have you written home to your mother?”

“Yes, sir, and I have sent her the half-crown.”

“Let me see your letter. You must not send money in an envelope like that without registering the letter.”

Alfred did not know what that meant.

“Well, Alfred, it costs twopence more, and then the postman takes care of it so that it shall not get stolen or be lost.”

“Please, sir, I have a penny a week pocket-money, and I will bring you two more pennies presently. I have got four at home.”

“You are a good boy,” said Mr. Cottenham, “so I will register it, and pay the postage for you as well. Give me the letter, I will take care of it.”

Alfred thanked him for his kindness, and ran off with a light heart to school. He did not meet Steve or Walter, as they were arranging how they could fix the batteries so as to give each boy a shock as he entered. Unfortunately for them the first to enter was Mr. Harmer, who received a slight shock, but not so great as theirs when they saw him come in.

“What are you doing?” he exclaimed.

“Please, sir, only a little fun. I didn’t think you would be here yet, sir,” said Walter, looking very foolish, and feeling quite as foolish as he looked.

“I am surprised at you, Parker, doing such a thing. You ought to set the boys a good example, as you help me with them. It is the first time you have ever done such a silly thing, so I will say no more this time, but I shall keep your batteries for the rest of this month. I think that will be quite punishment enough.”

Mr. Harmer took away both the batteries, and the coil as well, while Walter and Steve slunk away, feeling very small at the failure of their little joke.

“Walter,” said Steve, “what will Mr. Cottenham say to-night if you tell him that you have not brought your batteries?”

“I had forgotten that,” replied Walter.

“Let’s ask Mr. Harmer just to give them back to us for this once; perhaps he will,” suggested Steve.

“I know he won’t,” replied Walter. “Whatever he says he always sticks to, so it would not be any good.”

Walter was quite right in his opinion of Mr. Harmer, as he was a man who did stick to what he said. If he said a boy should do an imposition, all the tears and entreaties in the world would not move him.

After the roll-call Mr. Harmer set the boys their lessons, and then called Alfred up to him.

“Davidson,” he said, “come here.”

Alfred left his seat and went up to the master.

“Do you know that you left your sum-book on the desk when you went away yesterday with Dr. Phillips?”

“Please, sir, I am very sorry, but I quite forgot all about it. I won’t do it again, sir.”

“Do you know what the imposition is for leaving books about?”

“Yes, sir, three sums.”

“Then you must do three sums. I never excuse a boy.”

Alfred stood still.

“Do you know any other reason why I called you here?”

“No, sir,” replied Alfred, not remembering having done any wrong.

“Just think a minute,” said the master, looking at him very closely. “Doesn’t your conscience tell you the reason?”

“Please, sir,” said Alfred, ready to cry, “I don’t know anything wrong that I’ve done. I don’t really, sir.”

“Look at this sum. Tell me how many seven and nine make?”

“Sixteen, sir.”

“Then why do you put fourteen?”

“I am sorry, sir, I was so careless. I really will try not to do so again.”

“You have made another mistake in the same sum. You have added the farthings up incorrectly, and have put one halfpenny, when it should be three farthings.”

“Shall I do the sum again, sir?”

“I have not yet finished, Davidson,” continued Mr. Harmer. “What is strangest of all is, that your result, thus incorrectly done, should be the right answer. If you had added up the figures correctly, your answer would have been wrong. That is very strange, is it not?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Alfred.

“Do you know that I don’t allow any boy to use an arithmetic book with answers at the back of the book?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then how dare you use one?”

“Please, sir, I have not done so.”

“How dare you stand there and tell me that falsehood? Do you see this?”

The master held up a page of answers, evidently torn out of an arithmetic book, which had all the answers at the back.

“You have been squaring your sums so as to make the answers right. I can understand now why you helped Cox, and why he sent that note asking for your help again. I thought that he alone was to blame in the matter, but this makes me change my opinion. Where do you suppose I found this sheet of answers?”

Alfred did not reply, as he was too much frightened and surprised.

“Leave off crying!” said Mr. Harmer angrily. “Your tears will not save you. You have been a very deceitful boy, and I shall punish you severely. Cox, come here!”

Cox went up to his master.

“Has Davidson helped you before with these answers?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Cox, without hesitation.

“Was that the reason why you asked him to help you the other day?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know that I forbid the use of answers, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I shall punish you both. You will stay in during every interval this week. Go to your seat. Davidson, you will also stay in during every interval this week, and come to me again directly after the afternoon service.”

When Alfred returned to his seat King whispered to him:

“You got me a caning the other day, and now you are in for one yourself, you little sneak! I hope Mr. Harmer will make you smart like he did me, that’s all.”

It was a sad day for Alfred. The service in the cathedral, which was one of the pleasures of his life, he could not enjoy. His friends, Walter and Steve, tried to make the best of it, but it was no good. He spent most of the time in tears, the hours seemed so long; and when he went alone into the school-room, after the afternoon service, it was with beating heart and trembling limbs. Mr. Harmer was not there, and he had to wait some minutes.

The door opened, and King and Cox put their heads round and laughed.

“I wouldn’t be in your shoes for anything,” said King. “Now you know how I felt.”

Then both of the boys laughed. Alfred remained in his seat and did not even look up. Suddenly the boys, hearing the master coming, ran away.

Mr. Harmer walked up to his desk. Alfred heard him open it and get out his cane.

“Davidson, come here!” he said.

“Please, sir, won’t you believe me?” he pleaded, sobbing bitterly. “I did not, sir, I really did not use those answers. I know you will hurt me, but I don’t mind that if you will only believe me, sir. Please, do this once, sir!”

Alfred could not speak any more. The master stood, cane in hand, and looked at him. His memory went back to his boyhood, and he remembered how he had once stood before his master pleading, as Alfred was pleading at that moment; and he recollected, too, how he had been punished severely, and his innocence proved some months after. Yes, he remembered all this, and that his heart-broken grief did not move his master. He was disgraced until it was proved that he had spoken the truth. He hesitated. Masters do sometimes err in judgment, but it is not often, and he could not believe that Alfred was a boy who would tell a lie and persist in it. He looked at the boy crying, and then put his cane down.

“Davidson,” he said kindly, “I will believe you.”

“Oh, thank you, sir, thank you! I don’t mind being caned now, at least not so much. You have made me so happy, sir.”

“When I forgive a boy, Davidson, I entirely forgive him; so I shall not cane you. I shall wait and watch, and I shall find out some day who used those answers. You must stay in during the interval to-morrow to do three sums for leaving your books about. I will accept no excuses for breaking rules.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Alfred, looking at his master.

“You may go now, my boy,” said Mr. Harmer, patting his rough, curly hair.

Alfred ran off. All his grief went at once. Outside the door he met his two friends, who were waiting for him.

“Did it hurt much?” inquired Steve.

“Mr. Harmer has believed me,” replied Alfred with joy, “and I am so happy now! He has not caned me. I have only got to do three sums for leaving my books about.”

“I am glad,” exclaimed Walter, with emphasis. “I believe some one else put those answers in your book, purposely to get you in a row, while we were with the dean. I’ll try to find out.”

“What are you going to do now, Alfred?” inquired Steve. “Will you come for a walk with us? We don’t go to Mr. Cottenham’s until half-past five.”

“No, thank you, Steve,” replied Alfred. “I shall run home and wash my face, and just write a letter home to my mother and tell her everything.”

“All right!” said Walter. “We will call for you about a quarter-past five.”

“Thanks!” said Alfred, and away he ran, as happy as he had been miserable before, to write home.

CHAPTER V.

THE PAPER-CHASE.

TWO days after this, Alfred received a letter from his mother which made him very happy. The letter said that his father would be back in about a fortnight, and would have time to come home for a few days before going away again. His father was much better, and he was coming with his mother, and Maggie as well, to see Alfred and hear him sing in the fine old cathedral. Was not Alfred glad when he read that!

He was so pleased, that he read it again and again. It was a long letter, and there was something else in it. The lady whom Alfred had met at the deanery had called upon his mother, and her husband was coming with her to see Alfred’s father directly he returned.

It need hardly be said that Alfred showed this letter to both his friends, and even to Mr. Cottenham, who met him near the cathedral.

Walter said he would try to find out who put the answers in Alfred’s book; both Steve and he believed that it was either King or Cox. Walter thought that Cox used answers, as he was a dunce at sums, and that King had either put the page in Alfred’s book, or had told Cox to do so. He knew that the answers would only be used by a boy who was weak in sums, and who was doing practice, as the answers were for that part of the arithmetic book. King was good at arithmetic and much more advanced, so that the answers would not be of any use to him. There were two other boys who sat at the same desk as Alfred and Cox, and one of them was doing practice also, but the other was quite a little boy who had not got so far. So Walter thought that it must be either Cox or the other boy, whose name was Frank Pitt.

On the previous day Cox could not get his sums right, and had been kept in, while Frank Pitt’s were all right. He could not doubt that it was Cox alone who wanted the answers to help him, and so he determined to watch him.

Walter taught all the smallest boys, who were called probationers. As their name explains, they came on trial, and if they did well and behaved themselves they became choir-boys, if not, they had to leave. Now one of these little boys, Thomas Brown, was the fourth boy who sat at Alfred’s desk, and during the interval, Walter thought he would ask him a few questions, as he sat next to Cox.

“Tommy,” he said, “does Cox ever help you with your sums?”

“No,” replied Brown, “he can’t do his own always.”

“Can he do them sometimes, then?”

“Yes, he gets them done quickly sometimes, but at other times he keeps making figures and crossing them out.”

“Does anyone help him?”

“He told me that King does sometimes in the evening.”

That was all that Walter said at the moment, as he did not wish to let Brown suspect anything.

During school, Mr. Young came in.

“Mr. Harmer,” he said, “as the weather is so fine and warm, I should like to arrange a paper-chase for the boys to-morrow morning directly after service. I am going to give them all a good dinner at Brangton, and we will come back by train in time for the afternoon service. We ought to get to Brangton by one, following the hares, and then we shall have an hour and a quarter for dinner and be back before three o’clock.”

“Very good, Mr. Young,” replied Mr. Harmer. “If the day should be as fine as it is to-day, they will all enjoy it very much.”

“Will you come as well, or would you rather not walk so far?”

“If you really do not mind, I think I should prefer to go by train and meet you there, Mr. Young.”

“Then, boys, I hope you will not forget to be in the cloisters punctually for the start. I have plenty of paper ready for the chase.”

In one moment every boy’s tongue was let loose, and they were talking to each other about the chase, while Mr. Harmer and Mr. Young arranged the details.

“Silence, boys!” said Mr. Harmer; “who will be the hares?”

“King and Gray are the quickest runners,” said Walter.

“Yes,” said Mr. Young, “I know they can run well; so can Cox and Pitt. Then let King and Gray be the hares. Now, boys, get on with your work again.”

Mr. Young went away, and the boys again turned their minds to their work, and were as busy as bees, or at least they looked as if they were. When they were free, nothing was talked about except the paper-chase.

The following day was fine, and directly after morning service in the cathedral all the boys were ready. Mr. Young soon joined them, and gave King and Stephen each a bag of torn paper. Off they started, crossing the bridge and making for a wood which lay in the direction of Brangton, about a mile from the cathedral. Brangton was a pretty village, with a railway-station, about five miles away.

Mr. Harmer took three very small boys with him by rail.

“Now, boys,” said Mr. Young, as the cathedral clock struck, “it is time for us to start.”

Cox and Walter led the boys, while Mr. Young, who could walk and run well, came with the others. Alfred trotted well and soon came up with Walter.

The trail was not difficult to follow until they got right into the woods, when they wandered about for some minutes.

“Here it is, Walter,” cried out Alfred. “They have crossed this ditch.”

Walter ran up and jumped over the ditch, followed by the rest and Mr. Young. Now they ran across a meadow, and then over a ploughed field and up a lane. They had not yet seen either of the hares, and already one hour was gone. They halted for a few minutes.

“Well, Parker,” said Mr. Young, “have you lost the trail again?”

“No, sir. I can see the paper along the side of the hedge. They have crossed this brook.”

The brook was at least twelve feet wide, and about four feet deep where they were.

“Look, sir!” said Cox; “they have leaped over it and thrown the pole down on the other side.”

Mr. Young glanced in the direction in which he pointed, and saw a long pole lying near the water, and the trail across the field on the other side of the brook.

“There is a wooden bridge about a quarter of a mile up the stream. Those of you who can’t jump over must go round,” exclaimed Mr. Young, who took a short run and easily cleared the brook. “Here’s the pole for any who care to try and follow me.”

Most of the boys had already made for the bridge. Walter, Cox, and Frank Pitt alone leaped over the brook by the help of the pole. Alfred had gone with the others. Again they all followed the trail. Brangton was in sight, and if the hares reached the farmhouse before they were caught, they would win the chase. Walter, with Cox and Pitt, now made a final spurt, and saw Steve and King quietly sitting down about a quarter of a mile ahead.

They got up and waved their caps in derision, and then darted off, all the others following as fast as they could. It was rather a hopeless task. The hares slackened speed, but as soon as Walter, Cox, and Pitt came within a few yards of them, they ran away again, laughing at them.

“Now, boys, I think I can catch them,” said Mr. Young, who was a very swift runner.

The hares saw him coming and gaining rapidly on them, so they ran into a sweet-shop, through the house, into the garden, and over the wall, and then made for the farmhouse, not a hundred yards ahead. Mr. Young had gone round, and was only about ten yards behind. King he succeeded in overtaking, but Steve got into the house first. The rest came in a few minutes later.

Mr. Harmer was waiting for them, and so was a good dinner also. The boys were hungry, and the good people of the farm thought that they would never be able to satisfy their appetites.

“Have you bought railway tickets, sir?” inquired the farmer.

“No, Mr. Robinson, not yet,” replied Mr. Young.

“Because there’s a wagon going back that you might all ride in, if you like, sir.”

“Thank you, Mr. Robinson; but I am afraid we should not be back in time for service, as we should be over an hour if we rode in that. The service is at three, and it is now nearly two.”

“I had forgot about the sarvice, sir. You’ll go back by the two-twenty train, I suppose, then, sir?”

“Yes, that is the train I intend to return by.”

The boys sang grace after the meal, and then walked down to the station and returned by the train, having enjoyed their run immensely.

“We are much obliged to you, sir,” said Walter.

“I am quite sure, Walter,” replied Mr. Young, “that none of you have enjoyed the run more than I have. We must arrange another before it is too hot.”

They marched in a very orderly manner to the cathedral and joined heartily in the service, after which they went to their homes to do their work for the next morning.

“King,” Walter heard Cox say, “will you come home with me and give me a hand with those sums? I can’t do them now I’ve lost my help.”

Walter was standing behind one of the pillars in the cloister, and Cox did not see him, although King did.

“Come on with me, Harry,” said King, running off.

Walter decided in his own mind that the “help” must be the answers he had used, but he could not, of course, be sure about it, so he said nothing to Steve or Alfred then, but resolved to wait until he could be sure.

The three boys had an invitation to go to Mr. Cottenham’s to tea once a week, on Thursdays. He had promised on their next visit to show them some more experiments, so they went home to do their work first, as he said he would always have tea later, in order that they might be able to spend an hour or so with him without neglecting their lessons.

CHAPTER VI.

AT MR. COTTENHAM’S.

MR. COTTENHAM was unable to show them the experiments he had promised, as he was engaged all the evening, so they went home after tea. A week later they again went to see him.

“I was very sorry, Walter,” he said, “to disappoint you last week; but I have everything ready this time.”

“Take care!” said the parrot; “wipe your boots!”

“A very good hint!” laughed Mr. Cottenham.

As it was a lovely April day, and quite warm, they had tea in the summer-house. Mr. Cottenham was very proud of his garden, in which he spent most of his leisure time, working very hard to keep it tidy and full of the best flowers of the season. There were already many flowers in bloom, and the view across the river towards the grand old cathedral was very fine.

“Steve,” he said, when they were about to sit down to tea together—Poll was also there, and Alfred had gone to fetch Rover, the big dog, from his kennel—“Steve, when I was in the old book-shop, looking at some works on gardening, one of your boys came in; his name, I think, is Cox; his father is agent for an insurance company. He is about your height, and has red hair.”

“Yes, sir, that is Harry Cox,” replied Steve.

“What arithmetic do you use?”

Steve named the book they used.

“Alfred told me all about the trouble he got into with Mr. Harmer, when he found a page of answers to his sums in his exercise book,” said Mr. Cottenham. “When I heard a boy ask for an arithmetic book with answers, and saw that it was one of your boys, I noted what occurred. Mr. Thrupp, the bookseller, found him a copy, and told him it would be two shillings. It was a second-hand book. He bought it and took it away with him. I did not say anything, but you, Walter and Steve, should watch and see if his sums are right now.”

“We will, sir,” replied Walter, “and we are much obliged to you for telling us. I think either he or Herbert King put the answers in Alfred’s book to spite him.”

“Don’t say a word to Alfred until you are sure about it; but I thought if I told you, it might lead to the discovery of the boy who used the answers. Here comes Alfred with Rover.”

Rover came in, jumping about, and threatening to break all the cups and saucers, until his master told him to lie down. Poll amused itself by whistling and calling the dog, but after the first time Rover was not deceived, and merely looked at the bird as if he wondered how it did it.

Mr. Cottenham always had plenty of anecdotes to tell the boys of his adventures in India, as he had been a keen sportsman and crack shot. He was now an officer in the local volunteers, and by far the best shot in the regiment.

“You promised once, sir,” said Steve, “to tell us an anecdote about a tiger-hunt you once had in India.”

“Did I?” replied Mr. Cottenham; “then I must keep my word. I shall never forget that adventure. Although it was very dangerous, it was also very funny, and I believe I laughed more than I trembled at the time. I was in charge of one of the government stores in a distant part, where there were but few Englishmen, although there was a regiment of native infantry and a squadron of cavalry.

“Our work up there was much the same day after day, so I was as much excited at the prospect of a change as you are. The captain in command of the cavalry came in one morning and asked me if I should like to join him in a tiger-hunt. A large tiger had been seen in the neighbourhood, and had carried off a lot of cattle and a horse. He said he had sent some mounted men out to scour the country, to see if they could find out where the animal was. I told him I should be delighted to join him as soon as I had finished my official duties. I had a large store-room, in which the drugs were kept, and amongst them, some large bottles of ammonia. I suppose you know that ammonia is very strong smelling, and is used in smelling-salts.”

“You put some in the pigeon’s milk, didn’t you, sir?” inquired Alfred, laughing.

“I did, Alfred. Well, I was busily engaged in looking over the stores and making up some medicines; but I was thinking about the hunt we were going to have rather than about the work I had in hand. My native servant was occupied in getting both my guns ready, and my horse as well, as I hoped in an hour to be able to join the captain, who was about to start. He called, on horseback, and told me where the tiger had last been seen, and asked me to come to him as soon as possible. I told him I would, and I hurried on with my work, just as you boys do when you have a holiday directly it is finished.

“I had to go into the large warehouse at the back of the store for some drugs. The warehouse had four small windows and one door only, which I always kept locked, as I had had many goods stolen. It was very hot, and when I was in the warehouse I was so warm that I sat down for a few moments on some mats, just to cool myself and write down a few notes in my book. I suppose I must have fallen asleep almost immediately, as I woke with a start and recollected the hunting expedition. I looked at my watch, and you may imagine my surprise and disappointment when I found that I had been asleep nearly two hours. I felt very cross with myself, as I had never yet had an opportunity of joining in a tiger-hunt. I longed to see the ferocious animal in his wild native state. So I got up, and was about to finish my work, when I chanced to glance towards the doorway. There, in the cool shade, stretched quite at his ease, lay a huge tiger!

“I had no weapon, and it was quite impossible for me to get out of the outhouse without walking over the savage beast. All this flashed through my mind in a moment. If I shouted I should arouse the tiger, which would in all probability immediately attack me. I was quite defenceless, and my only hope of safety lay in being absolutely quiet. You may rest assured I did so, hoping that my servant might chance to come round and see where I was; but, as I had told him he could join the hunt directly he had got my guns and horse ready, I had little hope of that. I suppose that the animal must have been hunted by the captain and his followers, and, being tired, had selected that spot for repose. There were several big boxes behind which I had been lying, so I was hidden from the tiger’s view. My store was outside the village, and stood alone, so that the tiger was not disturbed. I need hardly say I could not take my eyes off the beast, which was apparently fast asleep. I waited for quite a quarter of an hour, silently watching my uninvited guest, when suddenly I saw a large bottle which was labelled Liquor Ammoniæ Fortiss. You know sufficient Latin to understand that fortiss, is the abbreviation for strongest. Noiselessly I took this big bottle and put it on a box in front of me. Then I found a small pan, filled it with the strong ammonia, and hid myself again behind a big box. The breeze carried the strong odour towards the tiger’s nostrils, and the animal was aroused in a moment. It sniffed and jumped up, and then sniffed again, as if undecided what to do. It went up to the pan and took one sniff at the liquid, then bounded out of the shed as if it had been shot. I could hardly help laughing at his sudden disappearance. I ran quickly into the store and got both my guns, mounted my horse, and went in the direction in which I had seen the tiger rush. A few minutes later I met the captain returning, without having seen the tiger he had been hunting for. In a few words I explained what had taken place, and away we went after my old friend. Well, boys, to cut a long story short, I had the good luck to shoot the animal myself, and you must have seen the skin hanging up in my parlour.”

“Is that the very same, sir?” asked Steve. “It is a very big one.”

“Yes, Steve, and it looked much bigger when alive and lying in that doorway, I can assure you. Why, boys, you have not been eating and drinking while I have been talking. What has become of your appetites?”

Thus reminded, the boys did ample justice to the food, and after tea they went into Mr. Cottenham’s laboratory—that is, the room in which he made chemicals or did chemical experiments. Walter eagerly followed everything he said and did. Mr. Cottenham explained in a very clear way all the changes that took place. He took a glass jar, called a beaker, and put into it a white powder, which, he said, was called sugar of lead or acetate of lead. This powder he dissolved in some water, tied on to a string some pieces of zinc, and fastened the other end of the string to a glass rod, which he placed across the top of the beaker. He left this while he was doing some other experiments, and there was gradually formed, on the string, a bright, leaf-like structure, called a lead-tree. He explained to Walter that the zinc had changed places with the lead, and was in the liquid, while the lead was on the string. He took a glass-tube, called a test-tube, and put into it some more sugar of lead dissolved in water, and then he took some little whitish crystals of iodide of potassium, and mixed the two liquids while warm. When the mixture was cool there were beautiful crystals, just like gold, glittering and yellow. These, he said, were iodide of lead.

“When I was in India, boys, I made a quantity of this to amuse myself; and to have a joke, I put a lot of these crystals in the sandy soil by the side of a small stream, where the natives often came for water. I stood at a distance and watched for a short time, when a terrible hubbub was raised. There were the men, women, and children squabbling and grabbing this gold, as they thought. In one of the papers it was afterwards said that a quantity of gold had been discovered, and an engineer and some government officials came to investigate. I need hardly say that no gold was found. I did not tell them how the report had got circulated. I suppose, boys, I am rather fond of spinning yarns.”

“What’s that, sir?” innocently inquired Alfred.

“Why, Alfred, that means telling short stories.”

“We like them ever so much,” said Alfred, “and we shall remember what you tell us better, because we can’t forget your stories—yarns, I mean.”

Amongst several other experiments which Mr. Cottenham performed was one in which he took some powdered sugar and some other white powder, called chlorate of potash, moistened a rod in an acid (oil of vitriol) and touched the mixed powders. Immediately they caught fire, and all the powder turned black.

“Mind, boys, that you always wash your hands after touching any chemicals, as many of them are poisonous, and also, never do any experiments without first asking, as some things explode, and might seriously injure you. I had an accident when I was a boy, through being too conceited to ask. I thought I knew everything, and so I made some gas (it was hydrogen), and lit it without taking the proper precaution of seeing that there was no air left in the flask. Immediately there was a loud report like a pistol-shot, and my apparatus was blown all to pieces. You see that scar just above my eye. Well, that was where a piece of glass struck me, and I am thankful that I did not lose my sight. Boys too often think that making an explosion is a big joke, but it is also a very dangerous one.”

“Do you teach chemistry, sir?” inquired Alfred.

“Yes, at the grammar-school, and I am going to ask Mr. Harmer to let me give you a course of lectures at your school next autumn, similar to those I give at the grammar-school.”

“Please do, sir!” exclaimed Walter; “and let me help you with the experiments.”

“That I certainly will, Walter, as it is a pleasure to teach you chemistry, you take such an intelligent interest in all I do here.”

“What is that for, sir?” inquired Steve, pointing to a very complicated piece of apparatus.

“That is for water analysis,” replied Mr. Cottenham. “I am the borough analyst, and have to test the milk, butter, and anything else that may be brought to me.”

“I should like to be a chemist, sir!” exclaimed Walter. “I hope that when I leave school father will let me be one.”

“Please, sir,” inquired Steve, “can you do any kind of analysis?”

“Yes, Steve,” replied Mr. Cottenham. “I think I may venture to say I can undertake any analysis.”

“Will you analyse something for me, sir, which I should so much like to have done?”

“Certainly, Steve, with pleasure.”

“Then, sir, I wish you would kindly do my grammar analysis for me to-night,” said Steve, grinning.

Mr. Cottenham laughed good-humouredly, and said he feared that he had quite forgotten that branch of analysis.

“What’s the time?” cried Poll.

“Boys, Polly evidently thinks it is time you went, and so do I, so good-night!”

The boys thanked him heartily, and ran off home at once.

CHAPTER VII.

POLLY AT SCHOOL.

TEN days passed, and Alfred received another letter from his mother, saying that his father was expected home in three days’ time. Moreover, the lady he had met at the deanery had called again, this time with her husband, Mr. Rogers, and they had promised to repeat the visit when his father came home. “Don’t forget, Alfie,” wrote his sister, “that we hope next week to come and see you.” Alfred was not likely to forget that; he almost counted the hours and minutes to the day when he should see his father again.

Steve met him as usual, as he was on his way to school, and as they passed Mr. Cottenham’s shop, he called to them:

“Steve,” he said, “poor Polly’s gone!”

“Dead, sir?”

“No; Steve; at least I hope not. Last night a strange cat came into my parlour, through the open window, and flew at Polly. I only heard a noise, and when I came in I saw the parrot fly through the window, and the cat after it. I rushed down the garden, but Poll, although one wing has had a few feathers taken out to prevent it from flying away, can still fly some yards at a time—farther than I thought it could. I have been out half the night and early again this morning, but I cannot find any trace of it. I hope I sha’n’t catch that cat until I am less angry, or it will be a bad job for it.”

“We will look about, sir,” replied Steve, “and run back if we should see it or hear anything about it. Everybody in the town knows it, I should think, so I do hope you will get it back again.”

“I hope so too, Steve, I can assure you.”

The boys went on to school without seeing Polly, or meeting anyone who had seen it. They told their school-fellows, and all of them determined to join Mr. Cottenham in their spare time in hunting for the bird.

The dean still retained something of the schoolmaster about him, and used twice a year to examine the choir-boys in the school for about a couple of hours. His visit was always an unexpected one, and the boys, when assembled after service, were surprised when he walked in, accompanied by Mr. Young. All the boys were afraid of him, not that they need have been, for although he was a firm believer in discipline, he was very fond of young people, and boys had at various times experienced many kindnesses at his hands. But still, he was the dean, and because he was the dean, the choir-boys were always uneasy, to say the least, when the surprise examination took place. Moreover, if a boy were very bad and had to be expelled, he was taken before the dean, and in that light, as a judge, he was always regarded.

“He will be sure to be down on me, worse luck,” exclaimed King, “on account of that young sneak, Davidson!”

King had been often called “Onions” since the first of April incident, and was always very angry when anyone used the nickname. He could not see that side of the joke.

If the boys were anxious, the master was equally so, as he wished them to show up well before the dean. This did not always happen, and work which Mr. Harmer had been through time after time, they sometimes quite forgot when they were questioned by the dean. The unlucky boy, who from inattention had not learnt his work properly, or from nervousness was unable to remember, would not only be reproved by the dean, but, after he had gone, Mr. Harmer would give him some impositions in order to help his memory.

Those boys who had been previously examined remembered this, and that was one reason why they were always very glad when the dean’s visit was over.

While the dean was talking to Mr. Harmer about the work the boys had done during the past few months, the boys themselves were quietly talking about their chances.

“I wish I had been unwell to-day,” said Harry Cox, “so that I should not have been able to come. Frank Pitt, lucky beggar, is at home with a bad cold. I wish I had twenty colds!”

“You’ll find it warm enough presently to cure all your colds, Harry,” said Steve. “I hope the dean is in a good temper; he is sometimes.”

“He isn’t likely to be so with me, anyhow,” observed King, who was trying to put on a bold face and tone; but it was rather a failure, for he looked more nervous than anyone.

The dean took the master’s seat and glanced round the class. Not a sound was heard.

“I have been reading the report on your conduct, boys, and on the whole it is satisfactory, although I find some complaints. It appears that at times some of you boys have not been quite so truthful as I should like to see. All British boys like to be thought brave! Quite right, too. I like to see brave boys, and so always remember this, that lying is the refuge of cowards. Don’t forget what I say, boys. To be brave you must be truthful. I am not going to preach to you.”

The dean looked at Harry Cox and two other boys. They all felt and looked very much ashamed.

Mr. Harmer and Mr. Young left the room, and the dean took his seat at the masters desk.

He was glancing over the list of subjects which the boys had done, when suddenly a voice exclaimed, “Come, Joe, hurry up!” Then there was a quiet laugh.

“What boy has dared to make that impertinent remark?” exclaimed the dean angrily.

No boy answered or moved.

“I will severely punish every boy, if necessary, to find out the guilty one,” said the dean.

Still no boy answered.

“As you are all silent, I shall question each one of you separately, and the boy who has been guilty of this insult shall be severely punished.”

“Herbert King,” said the dean, “stand up. Did you speak, or do you know who spoke?”

“No, sir,” replied King, pale with fear.

“Phew!” came the sound of a whistle.

“Who whistled?” exclaimed the dean. “It was one of you boys at the end of the room. Do you suppose I cannot tell where the sound comes from? Stand up, every one of you!”

As the boys rose a voice called out, “Wipe your boots!”

The dean looked at the boys in blank astonishment.

“One of you boys is trying to mock me by imitating a man’s voice. How dare you? Which boy is it? It must be one of you who were sitting on that end form. Unless you at once confess, I will send for Mr. Harmer and have you all caned.”

“Look out!” said the voice.

The dean could see that none of the boys was speaking.

“Do you want a pill?” said the voice.

The dean and all the boys looked towards the end of the room. No one was there.

“Where’s the bottle?” said the voice, and then there was a loud whistle, followed by a sneeze.

“Please, sir,” said Steve, “there’s Mr. Cottenham’s parrot on that beam. He lost it last night.”

“Oh dear! Oh dear!” said Polly, “where’s the sugar?”

Steve was right. There was the lost parrot eyeing the boys in a very knowing manner. Had the dean been anyone else than a dean he must have laughed; as it was, he smiled.

“You had better fetch Mr. Cottenham,” said the dean to Steve. “King, close the window, so that the bird cannot fly away.”

Away ran Steve as fast as he could, and in less than five minutes he was at Mr. Cottenham’s.

“If you please, sir,” he exclaimed, breathless, “your parrot is in our school-room!”

“What, Steve,” said Mr. Cottenham, “is my Polly up there? I will come back with you at once and get it.”

As they walked to the school, Steve related the amusing little scene with the dean. He could enjoy the joke now.

“I am very sorry, sir,” said Mr. Cottenham to the dean, “for the had behaviour of my parrot.”

“Don’t mention it, Mr. Cottenham,” replied the dean, laughing.

“Look out! Shop, you’re wanted!” said Poll, who flew on to its master’s shoulder, and rubbed its head against him. “Good-bye!” shrieked the bird, as Mr. Cottenham left the room with it.

Quiet and attention having been restored, the dean proceeded to test the class, each boy in turn having to stand up and answer a number of questions on various subjects. If a boy appeared nervous, he was told to sit down again, and was examined later on. Alfred did very well, and so did his friends; not so Cox, who was severely reproved for his idleness and ignorance. King did well, for he was in some subjects at the head of the school.

When Mr. Harmer returned, the dean said that he was much pleased with the boys on the whole, but a few had done badly, and he named Cox in particular.

“As you have done so well, boys,” said the dean, “except those three I have named, I shall ask Mr. Harmer to excuse you any more work to-day.”

“Thank you, sir,” said most of the boys.

The dean left the school-room, and Mr. Harmer took his usual place.

“As the dean has given you a holiday,” he said, “I shall let you all go at once, except those he has named.”

Away the boys ran, leaving their unfortunate, or perhaps it should be said their idle, school-fellows to receive extra work for the rest of the term.

Walter, Steve, and Alfred called on their way home to see that Mr. Cottenham’s parrot was all right, and found it as talkative as ever, being none the worse for the dean’s reproofs, or for its flight from the cat.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE OLD PIT.

ALFRED’S father had returned home, and had written to him saying that they were all coming to see him on the following day. It was not many miles from Darlton to the old city where Alfred was. He had done all his work well, and both Mr. Harmer and Dr. Phillips had praised him for his industry and attention.

Mr. Cottenham, unknown to the boys, had told Mr. Harmer that Cox had bought an arithmetic book and key with the answers, and the master had promised to look carefully over his sums in future. Cox thought himself very cunning, and used to do about one sum in three wrong, so that his master might not suspect him. But boys forget that, however clever they may think themselves, masters have eyes, and also have been boys themselves, and know what tricks are done in school.

For several mornings Mr. Harmer did not look carefully over Cox’s sums, but merely asked him to read out the answers. A day came, however, on which the boys were given a holiday after services in the cathedral, and Mr. Harmer felt certain that Cox would have all his sums quite correct, in order that he might not be kept in. As usual, he was simply asked to read out the answers. Cox did so; they were all correct, as Mr. Harmer had expected.

“Bring your book here,” he said.

Cox brought up his arithmetic book.

“No, Cox,” he said, “I wish to see your exercise book, with the working of the sums.”

“I haven’t put quite all the working down, sir,” stammered Cox, turning very red. “I did the sums first on a piece of paper at home, and then threw it away.”

“Bring up your book.”

Cox brought it. The sums were commenced all right, and the answer was correct also, but there were several mistakes in the working which could not possibly have produced the results put down.

“It is very extraordinary, Cox, how you could get such an answer from that working.”

“Please, sir, I copied the sums in the book in a hurry, perhaps I made some mistakes.”

“Perhaps! Come now, tell me the truth. Have you a book with answers?”

“No, sir.”

“You have never bought such a book?”

“No, sir, never.”

“You did not go into Mr. Thrupp’s a fortnight ago and buy one?”

“No, sir,” replied Cox hesitatingly.

“How can you stand there, Cox, and tell me such a deliberate falsehood? If you do not at once speak the truth, I will take you to the dean. I have seen Mr. Thrupp, who knows you, and he said you did buy a copy. Mr. Thrupp also told me that you bought a similar book last term. I have not the slightest doubt now that you put that leaf of answers into Davidson’s book, or, at least, that it belonged to you.”

Cox did not reply.

“Now, Cox, listen to me. Either you will answer my questions truthfully, or I will take you this very minute to the dean. Did you put that page in Davidson’s book?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know who did put it there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who was it?”

Cox was silent.

“Are you going to answer me, or do you prefer to go to the dean?”

This decided Cox.

“It was Herbert King, sir, who put it in the book.”

“King, I am ashamed of you! A boy of your age to do such a paltry trick!”

“Please, sir, I only did it for a joke.”

“A joke! A joke is only a joke when both sides can laugh. It was a mean, despicable trick to do, and Davidson might have been unjustly punished for it. You are leaving at the end of this term, King, or I should feel very much inclined to send you to the dean. I shall cane you both now before the whole school as a warning to others, and a just punishment to yourselves.”

Mr. Harmer was as good as his word, and the two boys returned to their places not only in pain, but in humiliation. King felt the disgrace even more keenly than his companion, for he was the biggest boy in the school.

All the class had of course stopped work and looked on, many of them in fear, as Mr. Harmer was very rarely as angry as they saw him that morning. When the lessons and services were over, Cox and King slunk away by themselves.

Alfred had arranged to meet his two friends about half a mile beyond the old pit. He did not accompany them, as he was going to write a letter to his father, and it took Alfred much longer to write such a letter than Walter and Steve would care to wait. He had arranged, therefore, to join them at the place at which they usually fished. The two boys had gone in a boat, but Alfred was to take a short cut across the fields in order that he might not lose too much time.

The letter was written and posted, and away Alfred ran to find his chums. He was as happy as a boy could be at the prospect of meeting all his family again, and he was also very glad that his innocence was proved. When he was passing near the old pit which Mr. Harmer had forbidden the boys to visit, he saw King and Cox playing together, or rather trying to amuse themselves. King threw his cap at Cox, and, missing him, it fell down the pit.

“That serves you right,” exclaimed Cox, laughing at King. “Now you’ve lost your cap.”

“No, I haven’t. I shall climb down and get it. It isn’t deep. I have been down several times before.”

The pit was not apparently very deep, owing to the sides having fallen in after some very heavy rains. There was a rude fence round the mouth of it, formed by lashing scaffold poles together. These the boys used to untie, knot the pieces of cord together, and let each other down. One pit in the vicinity had lately been flooded, and in the bottom of this old one there was some water.

“Herbert,” said Cox, “your cap won’t be much improved by that muddy water.”

“We can wash it in the river afterwards,” replied King. “Come and lend me a hand, and we will soon get these pieces of rope off and tied together.”

“I wonder how much water there is at the bottom!” said Cox, looking down at the dark muddy water.

“Only a few inches. I know the depth of the pit when it is dry, and I can see there isn’t much difference in it. You had better go down, but I will if you are afraid. I don’t think you are strong enough to help me up again, are you?”

“I don’t know,” replied Cox, looking very doubtfully at the water.

“Don’t be in such a funk,” exclaimed King, “or I shall tie the rope round one of these posts and let myself down.”

“I am not in a funk,” said Cox. “I will go down when we get these pieces tied together. This rope is a bit rotten, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s all right. It has borne my weight, and so I am sure it will yours.”

Cox did not seem at all in a hurry to commence the descent, which was perhaps some thirty or forty feet.

“There goes young sneak,” he exclaimed, as he saw Alfred running across the other side of the field. “Stop him.”

As soon as Alfred heard this, he ran as fast as he could, but King soon overtook him.

“Herbert,” called out Cox, “let’s make him go down and fetch your cap. He’s fond of sneaking, so that will give him something to talk about.”

“All right, Harry,” replied King, “a jolly fine idea that! Now, little sneak, you are going down that pit to fetch up my cap, do you hear?”

“Yes,” replied Alfred, “I hear.”

“Do you mean to say you don’t intend to go down there?”

“Yes, I do,” replied Alfred firmly.

“Supposing I say I will make you, what then?”

Alfred did not reply.

“If you won’t go after his cap, perhaps you will after your own,” exclaimed Cox, taking Alfred’s cap and throwing it down the pit.

King laughed. Alfred remained still, without attempting to move. King shook him roughly.

“Now, look here,” he said. “You are going down to fetch those caps quietly, or we shall tie this rope round you and drop you down, whether you like it or not.”

“I tell you I sha’n’t go,” replied Alfred, “and if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll kick you.”

“Then clear off, little sneak,” exclaimed King angrily, and shaking him violently. “Come, Harry, and get my cap, and leave his there until called for.”

Cox would have liked to refuse, as Alfred had done, only he feared the jeers of his chum. So he allowed himself to be bound with the cord, while the other end was secured to a post. King intended to lower him gradually. Alfred remained where he was, simply looking on.

“Harry,” said King, “you must steady yourself against the side as you go down, and when you climb up again, dig your feet well into the loose earth.”

“Is this tied tightly?” asked Cox, who was very nervous.

“Yes, that’s all right. Come, are you ready?” cried King.

Cox approached the mouth, and Alfred then came nearer and watched them. They seemed to have forgotten his presence for the time. Slowly Cox began to descend; King, being a strong boy, let the rope slide gradually. Alfred went to the very edge of the pit and saw Cox going slowly lower and lower.

Suddenly King’s feet slipped and he loosened his hold of the rope. Cox fell some feet with a jerk, when the cord snapped, and a loud splash was heard.

Pale with fear, both King and Alfred gazed down and saw that Cox had disappeared beneath the water. In a few seconds—which seemed hours—his head appeared above the surface.

“Help! help!” he screamed, and again disappeared.

King stood still, paralysed with fear.

In a moment Alfred had grasped the rope and descended rapidly, blistering his hands as he did so.

He had reached the water. Cox had risen again almost senseless. He grasped him by his jacket and held him with one hand, while he clutched the rope with the other.

“King,” he cried, “I can’t hold him long. Get some help at once! My arm is breaking!”

King was aroused by his cry, and looked wildly around. The rope was too rotten for him to dare to descend. There was no one to help them. Suddenly he seized one of the poles which formed the fence.

“Davidson, I will drop down one of these poles! Look out! Hang on to it when it is in the water.”

The pole reached the water with a splash, and as it did so, the upper end struck Alfred’s head a violent blow which almost stunned him. Away rushed King for help.

Alfred could feel the blood trickling down his face from the wound he had received. He felt faint and giddy, and his arms seemed to have lost all sense of feeling. He tried to cry out, but his tongue seemed to cleave to his mouth. He knew he could not hold on much longer, and if he let his school-fellow go, he must be drowned. All this flashed through his mind in an instant. His feet touched something. It was the pole, which was floating almost upright. He rested one foot on it, and it gradually sank, but after it had sunk about a foot he felt it was firmer, and he thought it must be resting on the bottom of the pit.

The poles were each some twenty feet long, and his heart sank when he realized that there was that depth of water. He was able now, by putting both feet on the end of the pole, to rest himself a little, but he was obliged also to keep Cox’s head up above the water. He wondered if Cox were dead. His face was white and his eyes were closed. Would no one ever come?

He dared not loosen his hold either of the rope or of his school-fellow. He felt faint! He could not see distinctly! Everything was fading away!

Suddenly the pole slipped a few inches. This roused him again. He determined that he would not let his burden go, come what might.

“Hold on, Davidson,” cried out King. “Mr. Cottenham is here with a stout rope.”

Alfred clung desperately to the rope and to Harry Cox, who was still unconscious, the dead weight of his burden nearly dragging his arms but of their sockets. At last, looking up, he saw a dark figure descending. Could he hold on a few seconds more? Again everything became dim; he thought he heard a noise, and then he became unconscious.

Mr. Cottenham had brought two long pieces of rope, which he had fastened to two posts; by one he descended, and the second he had ready to put round one of the boys. Walter Parker and Steve Gray had come with him, and together with King they awaited the signal to haul up. Just as he reached Alfred, the boy’s eyes seemed fixed, and then they closed, and with a sigh he fell into the chemist’s stout arms. He grasped both of the boys with his free arm, and then, getting a footing on the sunken pole, he managed to fasten the cord round Alfred, and shouted to the boys above to pull away.

In a few minutes he saw Alfred landed safely, and again they lowered the rope. With less difficulty he secured it round Harry Cox, and as soon as he saw him fairly up, he climbed up himself.

Harry Cox’s eyes were open, and he stared wildly round. Mr. Cottenham, after bandaging Alfred’s head, seized Cox in his arms, while Walter took Alfred, and they walked as rapidly as possible towards the cottage hospital, which was not very far distant.

In a few minutes both boys were put to bed and attended by the doctor.

“A narrow escape this,” he said to Mr. Cottenham, who was assisting him in restoring animation to the boys.

Cox soon recovered, and gazed about vacantly, and then asked where he was.

“You must not talk now,” said the doctor; “lie still.”

It was some time before Alfred recovered. When he opened his eyes he saw the kind face of Mr. Cottenham at his side. He felt a burning heat in his throbbing temples, and when he tried to speak he could not utter a word.

The doctor gave him some medicine, and he soon fell asleep, with dreams of falling over precipices and down pits.

King, with Walter and Steve, waited about for two hours before Mr. Cottenham returned to tell them that Alfred was better.

“You had better go and tell Mr. Harmer what has happened,” he said to Walter.

“Do you think, sir, that they will die?” inquired King, with an anxious look on his now pale face.

“I hope not,” replied Mr. Cottenham. “They are progressing as well as can be expected. If you call on me as you go to school to-morrow morning, I will let you know how they are. Do you know Alfred Davidson’s home address, Steve?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, giving it.

“I will write to his mother at once.”

“Is Alfred dangerously ill?” asked Walter.

“The doctor hopes for the best, but there is cause for anxiety. He will come to my place for his weekly chat and smoke, and so I shall hear the latest tidings to-night, and early to-morrow I shall come up here and see how the boys are. I think Cox will soon be well again, but with Alfred it will be a longer affair.”

Very early the next morning King was waiting at Mr. Cottenham’s to hear how they were. He had hardly slept a wink all night. He knew that he had been the cause of the accident; and if Alfred should die—! He shuddered at the thought.

Both Walter and Steve were out early, and found King still waiting outside Mr. Cottenham’s. At last the chemist appeared.

“How is Davidson, sir?” inquired King earnestly.

“Cox is much better, and in a couple of days will probably be quite well,” replied Mr. Cottenham.

“How is Alfred, sir?” asked Walter.

“I have just telegraphed for his mother to come at once.”

“Is he worse, sir?” inquired Walter. King was too anxious to speak.

“I am afraid he is,” replied Mr. Cottenham shortly. “Come again after dinner and I will let you know any further news of him.”

As Mr. Cottenham had said, Cox was sufficiently well in two days to be removed to his own home. The strain on Alfred’s system, added to the blow on his head, caused a dangerous illness; but, thanks to his youth and naturally good constitution, assisted by the close attention of a kind nurse and skilful doctor, he did recover. His mother had come, and soon afterwards his father also arrived, and when Alfred was out of danger, his joy may readily be imagined at seeing both of his parents at his bedside. Later in the day his sister came, and his good friend Mr. Cottenham.

As he got better, the doctor said that he might, in a few days, be removed to his home for a change.

“Alfie,” said his mother, “we have a lot of good news for you. Your father has been appointed to a good position at Eastport, so that he will not be obliged to go any more voyages; and the directors have given him a hundred pounds for his services in that great storm.”

“Mother, I am so happy now!” he exclaimed. “I should like to see Mr. Cottenham again. I have never thanked him for saving my life. If he had not come, I am sure I could not have held on any longer.”

When Alfred returned to the school after his holiday at home, he was told to come at five o’clock, after the service, to the cathedral library. No one had said a word to him of what was intended, and great was his surprise when he saw the large room crowded with people. Walter and Steve took charge of him. All the choir were there, and the clergy as well. Mr. Cottenham occupied a place on the platform, and the dean delivered a short address on the gallant rescue of a school-fellow by Alfred Davidson.

“Alfred,” said Walter, “you have to go up and receive a medal. The dean has called out your name.”

Scarcely knowing what he was doing, Alfred went up to the platform, and amid the loud cheers of his fellow-choristers and the applause of others, the dean’s daughter presented him with a medal.

When the dean afterwards made reference to the timely assistance of Mr. Cottenham, the applause was scarcely less than that which Alfred had received. After the presentation was over, all the choir-boys were invited by Mr. Cottenham to tea in his garden. And it was a tea! One of the boys asked him if he had been to India to fetch the delicacies. There is one little incident more to be recorded. While all the boys were seated at the table, King and Cox got out of their seats and came to Alfred.

“Davidson,” said King, in a voice choked with emotion, “Harry Cox and I want to give you this. I can’t make a speech like the dean, but I hope you won’t refuse it.”

It was a silver watch, engraved on the inside with Alfred’s name, the date, and these words, “For a gallant rescue at the risk of his own life”.

It may be doubted whether their united means would have secured so expensive a present if Mr. Cottenham had not heard of their intention. The choir-boys subscribed for the chain, and the organist, Dr. Phillips, gave Alfred a very handsome book.

This gallant rescue is still treasured among the annals of the choir-school of St. Bede’s.

“English boys owe a debt of gratitude to Mr. Henty.”—Athenæum.

Blackie & Son’s

Illustrated Story Books

LARGE CROWN 8VO, CLOTH EXTRA, OLIVINE EDGES

G. A. HENTY

On the Irrawaddy: A Story of the First Burmese War. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Stanley Brooke’s pluck is even greater than his luck, and he is precisely the boy to hearten with emulation the boys who read his stirring story.”—Saturday Review.

—A March on London: A Story of Wat Tyler’s Insurrection. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

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—Through the Sikh War: A Tale of the Conquest of the Punjaub. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

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—In Greek Waters: A Story of the Grecian War of Independence. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

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—Under Drake’s Flag: A Tale of the Spanish Main. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

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—Orange and Green: A Tale of the Boyne and Limerick. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Orange and Green is an extremely spirited story.”—Saturday Review.

—A Final Reckoning: A Tale of Bush Life in Australia. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Mr. Henty has never published a more readable, a more carefully constructed, or a better-written story than this.”—Spectator.

—By Right of Conquest: or, With Cortez in Mexico. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Mr. Henty’s skill has never been more convincingly displayed than in this admirable and ingenious story.”—Saturday Review.

—With Cochrane the Dauntless: A Tale of his Exploits. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“This tale we specially recommend, for the career of Lord Cochrane and his many valiant fights in the cause of liberty deserve to be better known than they are.”—St. James’s Gazette.

—A Jacobite Exile: or, In the Service of Charles XII of Sweden. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Full of life, adventure, movement, and admirably illustrated.”—Scotsman.

—With Frederick the Great: A Tale of the Seven Years’ War. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“It is a good deal to say, but this prolific and admirable writer has never done better than this story.”—British Weekly.

—With Moore at Corunna: A Tale of the Peninsular War. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“A very spirited story.”—Spectator.

—Facing Death: or, The Hero of the Vaughan Pit. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“If any father, godfather, clergyman, or schoolmaster is on the lookout for a good book to give as a present to a boy who is worth his salt, this is the book we would recommend.”—Standard.

—The Dragon and the Raven: or, The Days of King Alfred. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“A well-built superstructure of fiction on an interesting substratum of fact.”—Athenæum.

—One of the 28th: A Tale of Waterloo. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Contains one of the best descriptions of the various battles which raged round Waterloo which it has ever been our fate to read.”—Daily Telegraph.

—Cat of Bubastes: A Story of Ancient Egypt. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Full of exciting adventures.”—Saturday Review.

—With Clive in India: or, The Beginnings of an Empire. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Those who know something about India will be the first to thank Mr. Henty for giving them this instructive volume to place in the hands of their children.”—Academy.

—Condemned as a Nihilist: A Story of Escape from Siberia. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“His narrative is more interesting than many of the tales with which the public is familiar of escape from Siberia.”—National Observer.

—Under Wellington’s Command: A Tale of the Peninsular War. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“An admirable exposition of Mr. Henty’s masterly method of combining instruction with amusement.”—World.

—The Young Carthaginian: A Story of the Times of Hannibal. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“From first to last nothing stays the interest of the narrative.”—Saturday Review.

—By England’s Aid: or, The Freeing of the Netherlands (1585-1604). With 4 Maps. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Boys know and love Mr. Henty’s books of adventure, and will welcome his tale of the freeing of the Netherlands.”—Athenæum.

—The Lion of the North: A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“A clever and instructive piece of history. As boys may be trusted to read it conscientiously, they can hardly fail to be profited as well as pleased.”—Times.

—The Lion of St. Mark: A Tale of Venice. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Every boy should read The Lion of St. Mark.”—Saturday Review.

—Both Sides the Border: A Tale of Hotspur and Glendower. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

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—Captain Bayley’s Heir: A Tale of the Gold Fields of California. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Told with that vigour which is peculiar to Mr. Henty.”—Academy.

—By Pike and Dyke: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Told with a vividness and skill worthy of Mr. Henty at his best.”—Academy.

—A Chapter of Adventures: or, Through the Bombardment of Alexandria. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Their chapter of adventures is so brisk and entertaining we could have wished it longer than it is.”—Saturday Review.

—For the Temple: A Tale of the Fall of Jerusalem. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Many an ‘old boy’, as well as the younger ones, will delight in this narrative of that awful page of history.”—Church Times.

—Through the Fray: A Story of the Luddite Riots. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

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—The Young Colonists: A Tale of the Zulu and Boer Wars. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

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—In Freedom’s Cause: A Story of Wallace and Bruce. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“His tale is full of stirring action and will commend itself to boys.”—Athenæum.

—When London Burned: A Story of Restoration Times. 6s.

“A handsome volume, and boys will rejoice to possess it....”—Record.

—The Treasure of the Incas: A Tale of Adventure in Peru. With a Map. 5s.

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—With Roberts to Pretoria: A Tale of the South African War. With a Map. 6s.

“In this story of the South African war Mr. Henty proves once more his incontestable pre-eminence as a writer for boys.”—Standard.

—Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. 6s.

“A historical romance of the best quality.”—Academy.

—Through Russian Snows: or, Napoleon’s Retreat from Moscow. 5s.

“Very graphically told.”—St. James’s Gazette.

—The Tiger of Mysore: A Story of the War with Tippoo Saib. 6s.

“A thrilling tale.”—Athenæum.

—Wulf the Saxon: A Story of the Norman Conquest. 6s.

“We may safely say that a boy may learn from it more genuine history than he will from many a tedious tome.”—Spectator.

—With Kitchener in the Soudan: A Tale of Atbara and Omdurman. With 3 Maps. 6s.

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—At the Point of the Bayonet: A Tale of the Mahratta War. With 2 Maps. 6s.

“A brisk, dashing narrative.”—Bookman.

—Through Three Campaigns: A Story of Chitral, the Tirah, and Ashanti. With 3 Maps. 6s.

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—St. George for England: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. 5s.

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—With the British Legion: A Story of the Carlist Wars. 6s.

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—True to the Old Flag: A Tale of the American War of Independence. 6s.

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—At Aboukir and Acre. 5s.

“For intrinsic interest and appropriateness, At Aboukir and Acre should rank high.”—Spectator.

—Redskin and Cow-Boy: A Tale of the Western Plains. 6s.

“A strong interest of open-air life and movement pervades the whole book.”—Scotsman.

—With Buller in Natal: or, A Born Leader. With a Map. 6s.

“Just the sort of book to inspire an enterprising boy.”—Army and Navy Gazette.

—By Conduct and Courage: A Story of the Days of Nelson. 6s.

“As it is the last it is good to be able to say that it shows no falling off in the veteran’s vigour of style or in his happy choice of a subject.”—Globe.

—With the Allies to Pekin: A Story of the Relief of the Legations. With a Map. 6s.

“The author’s object being to interest and amuse, it must be admitted that he has succeeded.”—Guardian.

—By Sheer Pluck: A Tale of the Ashanti War. 5s.

“Written with a simple directness, force, and purity of style worthy of Defoe.”—Christian Leader.

—With Lee in Virginia: A Story of the American Civil War. With 6 Maps. 6s.

“The story is a capital one and full of variety.”—Times.

—To Herat and Cabul: A Story of the First Afghan War. With Map. 5s.

“We can heartily commend it to boys, old and young.”—Spectator.

—A Knight of the White Cross: A Tale of the Siege of Rhodes. 6s.

“Quite up to the level of Mr. Henty’s former historical tales.”—Saturday Review.

—In the Heart of the Rockies: A Story of Adventure in Colorado. 5s.

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—The Bravest of the Brave: or, With Peterborough in Spain. 5s.

“Lads will read this book with pleasure and profit.”—Daily Telegraph.

—A Roving Commission: or, Through the Black Insurrection of Hayti. 6s.

“May be confidently recommended to schoolboy readers.”—Guardian.

—For Name and Fame: or, To Cabul with Roberts. 5s.

“The book teems with spirited scenes and stirring adventures.”—School Guardian.

—In the Reign of Terror: The Adventures of a Westminster Boy. 5s.

“May fairly be said to beat Mr. Henty’s record.”—Saturday Review.

—Beric the Briton: A Story of the Roman Invasion of Britain. 6s.

“One of the most spirited and well-imagined stories Mr. Henty has written.”—Saturday Review.

—No Surrender! A Tale of the Rising in La Vendée. 5s.

“A vivid tale of manly struggle against oppression.”—World.

—The Dash for Khartoum: A Tale of the Nile Expedition. 6s.

“It is literally true that the narrative never flags a moment.”—Academy.

—With Wolfe in Canada: or, The Winning of a Continent. 6s.

“A moving tale of military exploit and thrilling adventure.”—Daily News.

—Out with Garibaldi: A Story of the Liberation of Italy. 5s.

“It is a stirring tale.”—Graphic.

—Held Fast for England: A Tale of the Siege of Gibraltar. 5s.

“There is no cessation of exciting incident throughout the story.”—Athenæum.

—Won by the Sword: A Tale of the Thirty Years’ War. 6s.

“As fascinating as ever came from Mr. Henty’s pen.”—Westminster Gazette.

—In the Irish Brigade: A Tale of War in Flanders and Spain. 6s.

“A stirring book of military adventure.”—Scotsman.

—At Agincourt: A Tale of the White Hoods of Paris. 6s.

“Cannot fail to commend itself to boys of all ages.”—Manchester Courier.

Blackie & Son’s

Story Books for Boys

LARGE CROWN 8VO, CLOTH EXTRA. ILLUSTRATED

Capt. F. S. BRERETON

The Hero of Panama: A Tale of the Great Canal. Illustrated by W. RAINEY, R.I. Olivine edges, 6s.

—Under the Chinese Dragon: A Tale of Mongolia. Illustrated by CHARLES M. SHELDON. Olivine edges, 5s.

—Tom Stapleton, the Boy Scout: With a commendation by LIEUT.-GENERAL SIR R. S. S. BADEN-POWELL, and illustrated with coloured frontispiece and in black-and-white by GORDON BROWNE, R.I. 3s. 6d.

“A rousing piece of story-telling.”—Westminster Gazette.

—The Great Aeroplane: A Thrilling Tale of Adventure. 6s.

“The story is a bracing one.”—Outlook.

—Indian and Scout: A Tale of the Gold Rush to California. 5s.

“A dashing narrative of the best quality.”—British Weekly.

—A Hero of Sedan: A Tale of the Franco-Prussian War. 6s.

“The exciting events of the book are developed in a manly spirit and healthy tone.”—Academy.

—John Bargreave’s Gold: A Tale of Adventure in the Caribbean. 5s.

“The book is full of breathless happenings.”—Daily Graphic.

—How Canada was Won: A Tale of Wolfe and Quebec. 6s.

“Will make the strongest appeal to the juvenile fancy.”—Outlook.

—Roughriders of the Pampas: A Tale of Ranch Life in South America. 5s.

“The interest is unflagging throughout the well-written tale.”—World.

—With Wolseley to Kumasi: A Story of the First Ashanti War. 6s.

“Boys will want nothing better.”—Daily Graphic.

—Jones of the 64th: A Tale of the Battles of Assaye and Laswaree. 5s.

“The story is full of dash and spirit.”—Birmingham Post.

—Roger the Bold: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico. 6s.

“The tale forms lively reading, the fighting being especially good.”—Athenæum.

—With Roberts to Candahar: A Tale of the Third Afghan War. 5s.

“A very tried author, who improves with each book he writes, is Captain F. S. Brereton.”—Academy.

—A Soldier of Japan: A Tale of the Russo-Japanese War. 5s.

“The pages bristle with hairbreadth escapes and gallantry.”—Graphic.

—Foes of the Red Cockade: A Story of the French Revolution. 6s.

“A stirring picture of a fearful time.”—World.

—With the Dyaks of Borneo: A Tale of the Head Hunters. 6s.

“Young readers must be hard to please if With the Dyaks does not suit them.”—Spectator.

—A Hero of Lucknow: A Tale of the Indian Mutiny. 5s.

“Full of action and picturesque adventure.”—British Weekly.

—A Knight of St. John: A Tale of the Siege of Malta. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“Would enthral any boy reader.”—World.

—In the Grip of the Mullah: A Tale of Somaliland. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

“A more spirited tale could not be wished for.”—British Weekly.

—With Rifle and Bayonet: A Story of the Boer War. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

—A Gallant Grenadier: A Story of the Crimean War. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

—One of the Fighting Scouts. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

—The Dragon of Pekin. New Edition. 3s. 6d.

—With Shield and Assegai. 3s. 6d.

SIR HARRY JOHNSTON, G.C.M.G., K.C.B.

Pioneers in West Africa. With 8 coloured illustrations by the author, and maps and other illustrations in black-and-white. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.

—Pioneers in Canada. With 8 coloured illustrations by E. Wallcousins, and maps and other illustrations in black-and-white. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 6s.

These two volumes are the first of a series, the object of which is to provide reading of “real adventures” of those pioneers who have helped to lay the foundations of the British Empire. The story is truthfully told in a picture of splendid colouring, and with great accuracy.

ALEXANDER MACDONALD

Through the Heart of Tibet: A Tale of a Secret Mission to Lhasa. 6s.

“A rattling story.”—British Weekly.

—The White Trail: A Story of the Early Days of Klondike. 6s.

“Should satisfy any boy’s mental appetite.”—Outlook.

—The Pearl Seekers: A Story of Adventure in the Southern Seas. 6s.

“This is the kind of story a boy will want to read at a sitting.”—Schoolmaster.

—The Invisible Island: A Story of the Far North of Queensland. 5s.

“A well-told story.”—World.

—The Quest of the Black Opals: A Story of Adventure in the Heart of Australia. 5s.

“An admirable tale.”—Westminster Gazette.

—The Lost Explorers: A Story of the Trackless Desert. 6s.

“As vivid a narrative as any boy could wish to read.”—Daily Graphic.

HARRY COLLINGWOOD

A Middy of the King: A Romance of the Old British Navy. Illustrated by E. S. HODGSON. Olivine edges, 5s.

—The Adventures of Dick Maitland: A Tale of Unknown Africa. Illustrated by ALEC BALL. Olivine edges, 3s. 6d.

—A Middy of the Slave Squadron: A West African Story. 5s.

“An up-to-date sea story.”—Truth.

—Overdue: or, The Strange Story of a Missing Ship. 3s. 6d.

“A story of thrilling interest.”—British Weekly.

—The Cruise of the Thetis: A Tale of the Cuban Insurrection. 5s.

“A good, stirring book.”—Times.

STAFF SURGEON T. T. JEANS, R.N.

On Foreign Service: or, The Santa Cruz Revolution. Illustrated by W. RAINEY, R.I. 6s.

“It is a rousing good yarn.”—Athenæum.

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The Rival Treasure Hunters: A Tale of the Debatable Frontier of British Guiana. 6s.

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DAVID KER

Under the Flag of France: A Tale of Bertrand du Guesclin. 5s.

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The Diamond Seekers: A Story of Adventure in South Africa. 6s.

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Every Inch a Briton: A School Story. 3s. 6d.

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The Boys at Menhardoc: A Story of Cornish Nets and Mines. 3s.

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The Naval Cadet: A Story of Adventure on Land and Sea. 3s. 6d.

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Lords of the World: A Tale of the Fall of Carthage and Corinth. 3s. 6d.

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The Nameless Prince: A Tale of Plantagenet Days. Illustrated by CHARLES M. SHELDON. 2s. 6d.

—The Red Knight: A Tale of the Days of King Edward III. Illustrated. 2s. 6d.

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When Lion-Heart was King: A Tale of Robin Hood and Merry Sherwood. 3s. 6d.

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Hawkwood the Brave: A Tale of Mediæval Italy. 3s. 6d.

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The Quest of the Golden Hope: A Seventeenth century Story of Adventure. Illustrated by FRANK WILES. 2s. 6d.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

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Table of Contents

The Choir School of St. Bede’s

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I. THE NEW SOLO-BOY.

CHAPTER II. THE FIRST OF APRIL.

CHAPTER III. ALFRED AT THE DEANERY.

CHAPTER IV. THE KEY TO THE SUMS.

CHAPTER V. THE PAPER-CHASE.

CHAPTER VI. AT MR. COTTENHAM’S.

CHAPTER VII. POLLY AT SCHOOL.

CHAPTER VIII. THE OLD PIT.

Blackie & Son’s Illustrated Story Books

Blackie & Son’s Story Books for Boys

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE