Here on the hillside Jeremy moodily kicked the turf and watched the shredding cloud. Another week of this and he would be more laughed at than any other boy in the school. Had it been the winter term his prowess at football might have saved the situation, but he had never been very good at cricket, and never would be. He hated it and was still in third game among all the kids and wasters. It would all have been so much easier, he reflected, had he only found Baltimore possible as a companion. But he thought that he had never loathed anyone so much as this snivelling, pimply boy, and something unregenerate in him rose triumphant in his breast when he saw Baltimore kicked—and this made it much more difficult for him to stop the kicking. What _was_ he to do about it? Appeal to Thompson, of course, he could not. He had promised to do his best and do his best he must. Then the brilliant idea occurred to him that he would write to Uncle Samuel and ask his advice. He did not like writing letters—indeed, he loathed it—and his letters were blotched and illegible productions when they were finished, but at least he could make the situation clear to Uncle Samuel and Uncle Samuel always knew the right thing to do. At the thought of his uncle a great wave of homesickness swept over him. He saw the town and the High Street with all the familiar shops, and the Cathedral, and his home with the dark hall and the hat-rack, and Hamlet running down the stairs, barking, and Mary with her spectacles and Uncle Samuel’s studio—he was even for a moment sentimental over Aunt Amy. He shook himself and the vision faded. He would not be beaten by this thing. He turned to Baltimore. “I’m not going to have you following me everywhere,” he said. “I’m only looking after you because I promised Thompson. You can have your choice. I’ll leave you alone and let everyone kick you as much as they like, and then you can go and sneak to Thompson. That won’t help you a bit; they’ll only kick you all the more. But if you behave decently and stop crying and come to me when you want anything I’ll see that none of the smaller boys touch you. If Cracky wants to hit you I can’t help it, but he hits everybody, so there’s nothing in that. Now, what is it to be?” His voice was so stern that Baltimore stopped snivelling and stared at him in surprise. “All right,” he said. “I won’t follow you everywhere.” Jeremy got up. “You stay here till I’ve got to the bottom of the hill. I’ll sit next you at tea and see they don’t take your grub.” He nodded and started away. Baltimore sat there, staring with baleful eyes. II