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one you have got. It came down from London by the early train.”

“How can that be?” said the boy. “Let us go and look at it.”

The hamper was there sure enough, and the name upon it was sufficiently plain to be read without spectacles, as the porter facetiously remarked—“Tom Howard, I

e College, Abbotscliff. Carriage paid." “It must be from Mrs. Beverley,” said Tom

look of great pleasure. “How very kind of her!” ! thought of his mother. Probably this was her doin had not forgotten even so trifling a matter as a cake reparing his things for school. No doubt she had asked Beverley to provide one, and to send it direct to Abbo He did not care over much about cake, but he felt very glad tu receive this token of his mother's care and kindness after she was gone away from him. He resolved to write by the very next post to Mrs. Roseberry at the Old Ship, to tell her that the home cake had not really been forgotten, and to thank her again for her own present, which he had some hesitation about keeping now that the case so materially altered, though he thought she would be offended if he should return it. As for himself, he felt that he should enjoy Mrs. Roseberry's cake all the more, now that it was impossible for any shadow of reproach to be associated with it, which he could not help fancying had been the case in the landlady's mind when she

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gave it to him.

Chaffin desired the porter to bring the two hampers up to the College immediately; and Tom, having put in a word for his portmanteau and book-box, which his companion did not seem to care so much about, started to walk thither, Chaffin leading the way.

“I say,” said the elder boy, looking over his shoulder, “you are a lucky fellow."

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" Why am I lucky ?" Tom asked.

“Two hampers instead of one. Oh, I say! Two cakes. Why, your father must be a pastrycook; ain't he ?”

"No," said Tom, laughing, but annoyed. ', "Oh, yes; he must be. You need not deny it. I fancy I

Ι see him—thin as a lath, with a white apron, and a little white cap upon his head, and his face all white with flour, and his sleeves tucked up-standing at a dresser, and rolling out puff paste."

The picture was so totally unlike the sober, grave, and somewhat stern appearance of his father, as he remembered him, that Tom Howard, in spite of his indignation, could not help laughing “You seem to know all about it,” he said. I

suppose you have a brother or an uncle, or somebody in that line yourself.”

Chaffin coloured up to the eyes. Tom's joke was too near the truth to be agreeable. He had, in fact, an uncle in London who was a baker, though he would not have had it known in the school for all the cakes that had ever been baked in his oven or sold in his shop.

Come, young chap,” he said, “ don't be saucy. My father is a gentleman, whatever yours may be.”

“I was only joking, of course," Tom answered; "and so were you. I don't know that it would matter much, though, if we were both of us pastrycooks' sons. We should not be any the worse for it. It's an honest trade if it's honestly followed.”

Chaffin did not seem to think much of that argument, and slouched along in silence with his hands in his pockets, the new boy following as before.

“I suppose you know what you will have to do with those cakes?" Chaffin remarked.

“Cut them up and eat them, I should think; that will soon be done with the help of some of the fellows."

"Oh, ah, yes; but you'd better not be in a hurry. The first

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thing to be done will be to take a large slice of each and present it to Dr. Piercey, the head master, when he comes into school. Piercey is very fond of cake, and he expects every boy to give him a share of what he has. Paying tribute, we call it. It is a great shame, but we have to do it.”

Tom looked at the speaker with surprise. “You are joking," he said

“No, I'm not; upon my word I'm not. It's a fact, I assure you.

But it's all the same to me. You need not believe it unless you like."

He spoke so seriously that Tom, who was quite a novice in everything relating to boarding-school customs, might possibly have been deceived, but for the expression Chaffin had made use of_“You need not believe it unless you like." Why should he say that, Tom thought, if he had spoken truth? Needn't believe it? why, it would be the greatest insult any one could offer not to believe a statement asserted upon honour. Tom thought over this, and answered presently:

“As you give me the choice whether to believe it or not, I won't believe it.”

“ All right,” said the other; "it's your look out, not mine; but I wouldn't be in your place all the rest of the term if you don't give Piercey his share.”

Presently they met some of the fellows, who would have passed Chaffin without speaking; but they stopped on seeing our hero, and asked if he were a new boy.

“Yes," said Chaffin, answering for him.
“What's your name?” one of them said, addressing Tom.

“ Tom Howard,” he replied, promptly, looking the inquirer full in the face, as much as to say, "What's yours?"

“Where do you come from ?” was the next question.

“My father brought him," Chaffin answered before he could speak for himself.

The boys scanned the new-comer from head to foot, looked at each other and laughed, and then turned away without another word.

Who are they ?” Tom asked, a little hurt by their behaviour. He had been going to shake hands with them, and they either did not, or would not, notice it.

“Monitors; sixth form boys; awful swells. I ought to have told them you were a marquis, and then perhaps they would have been more civil.”

"I'm very glad you did not," said Tom ; “though of course they need not have believed you; and if they had it would not have made any difference, I dare say."

Soon afterwards they met another group of boys. They were younger, and stopped to speak to Tom; but as soon as Chaffin claimed the new boy as his own particular friend, having an eye perhaps to the hampers, they laughed and passed on.

I wonder whether I should have done better if I had come without an introduction ?" Tom said to himself, remembering Captain Broad's advice about the choice of friends at school. He was still occupied with this reflection when they arrived at the College.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE "DOOK.”

It will come to pass
That every braggart shall be found an ass.—Shakespeare.

Come, give us a taste of your quality.-Ibid.
A
BBOTSCLIFF was an old foundation school with a modern

development, and generally went by the name of the College. It was well situated for health and amusements, but the spot was not one which would be selected in these days for such an establishment. The population of Abbotscliff was small, and although it had been intended by its founders as a day-school for the benefit of that town, the pupils now consisted almost exclusively of boarders. The school had formerly been a monastery, and there were revenues still attached to it which were sufficient to secure a liberal scale of remuneration for the masters. Of late years it had acquired a considerable reputation for scholarship and discipline, and the number of boys had increased, and was increasing rapidly. There were some remains of the old monastic buildings still in existence—a chapel, which had been restored and was in use for daily morning service, and a quadrangle and cloisters, which were but little used, the rooms surrounding them being dark and low. The principal buildings were of a later date, having been added from time to time to replace those which had fallen to decay, or to meet the requirements of increasing numbers. Detached from the rest of the building was a lofty but dilapidated tower, which had probably been designed partly as a mark for mariners at sea, and was still used as such by pilots. There was a winding staircase at one corner of this tower, and although the steps were broken and unsafe, they were still practicable for those who had nerve enough to ascend them, and who could trust themselves to make a long step now and then over a yawning gulf, and to look down from the high, crumbling walls without giddiness. The whole group of buildings, ancient and modern, stood upon the crown of a hill, and commanded a fine view of the coast, stretching away both to the east and west till bounded at each extreme by a projecting headland. Sandy Frith was not visible from this spot, but lay a little farther to the east, beyond the promontory, by which it was protected from the winds coming from the Atlantic, as Mr. Chaffin's prospectuses did not fail to set forth. Tom Howard halted more than once while ascending the hill

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