While they were chatting over their holiday amusements and occupations, Kenrick said little; and, wondering at his silence, Mr Percival asked him in what part of the world he lived. "I, sir?" he said, as though awaked from a reverie; "Oh, I live at Fuzby, a village on the border of the fens, and in the very middle of the heavy clays." And Kenrick turned away his head. "Don't abuse the clay," said Walter to cheer him up; "I'm very fond of the clay; it produces good roses and good strawberries--and those are the two best things going, in any soil." "Half-past ten, youngsters," said Mr Percival, holding up his watch; "off with you to bed. Let yourselves in through the grounds; here's the key. Good-night to you. Walter," he said, calling him back as he was about to leave, "one word with you alone; you three wait for him a moment outside. I wanted to tell you that, although I have seemed harsh to you, I dare say, of late, yet now I hear that you are making the most honourable efforts, and I have quite forgotten the past. My good opinion of you, Walter, is quite restored; and whenever you want to be quiet to learn your lessons, you may always come and sit in my room." Mr Percival was not the only Saint Winifred's master who thus generously abridged his own leisure and privacy to assist the boys in what he felt an interest. Walter thanked him with real gratitude, and rejoined the other three. "He's let me sit in his room," said Walter. "Has he?" said Henderson; "so he has me. How jolly! we shall get on twice as well." "What's that?" said Power, pointing upwards, as they walked through the garden to their house door. Glancing in the direction, Walter saw a light suddenly go out in his dormitory, and a great bundle (apparently) disappear inside the window, which was then shut down. "I'll go and see," he said. "Good-night, you fellows." All was quiet when he reached his room, but one of the candles, ineffectually extinguished, was still smoking, and when he looked to Eden's bed he saw by the gaslight that shone through the open door, that the child was awake, and crying bitterly. "What's the matter, Eden?" he said kindly, sitting down upon his bed. "If you peach," said Harpour and Jones together; "you know what you'll get." "Have you fellows been bullying poor little Eden?" asked Walter indignantly. "I've not," and "I've not," said Anthony and Franklin, who were better than the rest in every way; and "I haven't touched the fellow, Evson," said Cradock, who meant no harm, and at Walter's earnest request had never again annoyed Eden since the first night. "Poor little Eden--poor little fiddlestick," said Jones, "it does the young cub good." "Send him home to his grandmamma, and let him have his bib and his night-cap," growled Harpour; "is he made of butter, and are you afraid of his melting, you Evson, that you make such a fuss with him? You want your lickings yourself, and shall have them if you don't look out."