“Your grandfather, my boy, used to get caned once a week by old Doctor Harvey for the same incorrigible offense. But I understand the situation. You are not to blame. You are to have a room in Standerland Hall and sit at Mr. Morris’s table in the dining-room. Stop here a moment, while I send for a boy to show you about. Then you can get your books, and go into class the last morning period. We are going to try you in the Third. The master-in-charge will assign you a seat in the schoolroom.” The doctor touched a bell on his desk. “Send Lawrence to me, please,” he said to the servant who answered it; and then turning to Deering again, “Well, my boy, how is your grandfather? Has he told you that we were at Kingsbridge together? He was a senior when I was a freshman. He rescued me one night at a hazing-bee. Those were good old days—never the like of _them_ again! I am glad they are sending you north to school and college. Ah, Lawrence! come in, come in. Lawrence, this is Anthony Deering. He is to be in your form and hall. Take him about a bit—that’s a good fellow—introduce him to the masters—and report to Mr. Morris before the last period. Good-bye now. Come to the Rectory to tea this afternoon, Deering, and we can have some talk about the General.” The Doctor said all this very rapidly, and almost before Deering and Lawrence had finished their embarrassed greeting, he had turned to his desks and was busy with his papers. James Lawrence—or Jimmie, as he was always called—was a slender, dark-haired handsome youth. He had a frank countenance, an engaging smile, black hair, and beautiful dark eyes. He recovered his self-possession in a moment and looked Tony over critically, as he waited for the Doctor to finish speaking. “Very good, sir,” he said, at length. “Come along, Deering, and I’ll show you where you are to room.” “You may think the old gentleman is in the clouds,” he said, as they turned into a long corridor leading from the Doctor’s study, “but we have to wake up early in the morning to fool him—not that we don’t, you know!—but he is keen enough to make it mighty interesting. Why I have got twenty-five distinct directions about you already. You are to sit next me at table, for instance, and poor old Teddy Lansing is transferred to Mr. Williams.” “Will he mind?” asked Tony, a trifle anxiously. “Well, you’ll find out if he does mind. Teddy’s a noisy brute. There! that’s the way into the schoolroom,” he interrupted himself to say, “you’ll wish you could forget it in a week or so. Take a tip, watch Kit Wilson and me; we’ll show you a trick or two. But you are so beastly new.... See that animated broomstick toddling along? That’s old Roylston, the Latin master; you’ll meet him too soon for your comfort; we won’t stop now, despite the Doctor’s instructions. Give him a wide berth, and don’t bluff him.”