"I don't care what you do to _me_, Harpour," rejoined Walter, "and I don't think you'll do very much. But I do tell you that it's a blackguard shame for a great big fellow like you to torment a little delicate chap like Eden; and what's more, you shan't do it." "Shan't! my patience. I like that I why, who is to prevent me?" "I suppose he'll turn sneak, and peach," said Jones; "he'd do anything that's mean, we all know." Walter was always liable to that taunt now. It was a part of his punishment, and the one which lasted longest. From any other boy he might have winced under it; but really, coming from Jones, it was too contemptible to notice. "You shut up, Jones," he said angrily; "you shan't touch Eden again, I can tell you, whatever Harpour does, and he'd better look out what he does." "Look out yourself," said Harpour, flinging a football boot at Walter's head. "You'll find your boot on the grass outside to-morrow morning," said Walter, opening the window, and dropping it down. He wasn't a bit afraid, because he always went on the instinctive and never-mistaken assumption, that a bully must be a coward in his inmost nature. Cruelty to the weaker is incompatible with the generosity of all true courage. "By Jove, I'll thrash you for that to-morrow," shouted Harpour. "_To-morrow_!" said Walter with great contempt. "Oh, don't make him angry, Walter," whispered Eden; "you know what a strong fellow he is," (Eden shuddered, as though _he_ had reason to know); "and you can't fight him; and you mustn't get a thrashing for my sake. I'm not worth that. I'd rather bear it myself, Walter--indeed I would." "Good-night, poor little Eden," said Walter; "you're safe to-night at any rate. Why, how cold you are! What _have_ they been doing to you?" "I daren't tell you to-night, Walter; I will to-morrow," he answered in a low tone, shivering all over. "Well, then, go to sleep now, my little man; and don't you be afraid of Harpour or any one else. I won't let them bully you if I can help it." Eden squeezed Walter's hand tight, and sobbed his thanks, while Walter gently smoothed the child's pillow and dried his tears. Poor Eden! as I said before, he was too weak, too delicate, too tenderly nurtured, and far, far too young for the battle of life in a public school. For even at Saint Winifred's, as there are and must be at all great schools, there were some black sheep in the flock undiscovered, and therefore unseparated from the rest. CHAPTER TWELVE. MY BROTHER'S KEEPER. "'Tis in ourselves that we are thus or thus. Our bodies are gardens to the which our wills are gardeners." Othello, Act One Scene 3.