"Oh, we never have enough here," remarked the other calmly. "Wednesdays are the best, for then they give us meat stew; but that happens only one day in seven." While Samuel swallowed the pleasing morsels, he keenly examined the face of his generous host. The strange boy was apparently a year or two younger than himself, slightly Jewish in appearance, and very handsome. He was frail-looking, with curling black hair, bright dark eyes, and sensitive lips. His expression was thoughtful, and something in his impulsive manner had attracted Samuel from the beginning. "What's your name?" demanded the younger lad, when Samuel had finished his unexpected breakfast. "Samuel Taylor Coleridge. What's yours?" "Charles Lamb; and this is my sister Mary." The girl smiled prettily, and waving her basket as she turned to go, called back, "You must come to see us some time with Charles." Samuel thanked her and promised; and as the bell rang, summoning the pupils to lessons, he inquired,-- "How many boys are there here?" "Six hundred." "Plus one, now I've come." "I like you," declared Charles again, linking his arm with that of the new boy, as they fell into line. "I like you, too," responded the other warmly; and so began a friendship that grew stronger with each succeeding day. Samuel was speedily installed in school work, and having been a book-lover from the age of three, he was placed in a class of boys who were generally older than himself. With these he made friends at once, for his originality, both in work and play, won the admiration of the lads. With the teachers, too, Samuel fared better than most, for while James Bowyer was not a man to be trifled with, having always a birch twig within reach for the correction of young offenders, his wrath seldom descended upon pupils so apt as Samuel. "But," cautioned Charles, "look out for Jemmy Bowyer when he wears his passy wig!" He meant _passionate_, for on some occasions the head master appeared in the school-room with his smooth and carefully powdered wig replaced by an old, unkempt, and discolored one, and woe to the pupil who failed in his lessons or otherwise displeased him while thus decorated! His head-dress was the barometer that warned the boys of his moods, and they modelled their conduct accordingly. Mr. Bowyer was a conscientious teacher, who desired to give the lads most thorough and careful instruction, and the boys who studied earnestly were safe from the touch of his rod except on the days when he wore the "passy wig." Then his temper was most uncertain, and worker and laggard alike were frequently brought to judgment. At the end of a week, Samuel felt as though he had been a member of Christ's Hospital for a long, long time. Each day was spent like every other day, and he soon found himself going through the routine of study, recitation, play, and sleep as familiarly as the oldest student there. On Saturday morning Charles said,--