“I shall be late, as sure as a gun!” impatiently returned Harry. And away he sped through the rain and mud, never slackening speed till he was in the college schoolroom. He hung up his trencher, flung his surplice on to a bench, and went straight up, with outstretched hand, to Tom Channing, who stood as senior, unfolding the roll. “Good luck to you, old fellow!” cried he, in a clear voice, that rang through the spacious room. “I hope, with all my heart, that you’ll be in this post for many a day.” “Thank you, Huntley,” responded Tom. And he proceeded to call over the roll, though his cheek burnt at sundry hisses that came, in subdued tones, from various parts of the room. Every boy was present. Not a king’s scholar but answered to his name; and Tom signed the roll for the first time. “Channing, acting senior.” Not “Channing, senior,” yet. It was a whim of Mr. Pye’s that on Sundays and saints’ day--that is, whenever the king’s scholars had to attend service--the senior boy should sign the roll. They then put on their surplices; and rather damp surplices some of them were. The boys most of them disdained bags; let the weather be what it might, the surplices, like themselves, went openly through it. Ready in their surplices and trenchers, Tom Channing gave the word of command, and they were on the point of filing out, when a freak took Pierce senior to leave his proper place in the ranks, and walk by the side of Brittle. “Halt!” said Channing. “Pierce senior, take your place.” “I shan’t,” returned Pierce. “Who is to compel me?” he added with a mocking laugh. “We are without a senior for once.” “I will,” thundered Tom, his face turning white at the implied sneer, the incipient disobedience. “I stand here as the school’s senior now, whatever I may do later, and I will be obeyed. Return to your proper place.” There was that in Tom’s eye, in Tom’s tone, that somehow over-awed Mr. Pierce; and he walked sheepishly to his own place. There was no mistaking that Channing would make a firm senior. The boys proceeded, two and two, decorously through the cloisters, snatching off their trenchers as they entered the college gates. Tom and Huntley walked last, Tom bearing the keys. The choir gained, the two branched off right and left, Huntley placing himself at the head of the boys on the left, or _cantori_ side; Tom, assuming his place as acting senior, on the _decani_. When they should sit next in that cathedral would their posts be reversed? The dean was present: also three canons--Dr. Burrows, who was subdean, Dr. Gardner, and Mr. Mence. The head-master chanted, and in the stall next to him sat Gaunt. Gaunt had discarded his surplice with his schoolboy life; but curiosity with regard to the seniorship brought him amongst them again that day. “I hope you’ll keep the place, Channing,” he whispered to him, as he passed the boys to get to his stall. Arthur Channing was at his place at the organ.