Hamish turned his eyes upon him. He thought the bright young face looked unusually weary. “What is it, Charley, boy?” “It’s this Latin, Hamish. I can’t make it come right. And Tom has no time to tell me.” “Bring the Latin here.” Charles carried his difficulties to Hamish. “It won’t come right,” repeated he. “Like Mrs. Dora Copperfield’s figures, I expect, that wouldn’t add up,” said Hamish, as he cast his eyes over the exercise-book. “Halloa, young gentleman! what’s this! You have been cribbing.” He had seen in the past leaves certain exercises so excellently well done as to leave no doubt upon the point. Charles turned crimson. Cribs were particularly objectionable to Mr. Channing, who had forbidden their use, so far as his sons were concerned. “I could not help it, Hamish. I used the cribs for about a week. The desk made me.” “Made you!” “Well,” confessed Charley, “there has been a row about the cribbing. The rest had cribbed, and I had not, and somehow, through that, it came out to the second master. He asked me a lot of questions, and I was obliged to tell. It made the desk savage, and they said I must do as they did.” “Which you complied with! Nice young gentlemen, all of you!” “Only for five or six days, Hamish. You may see that, if you look. I am doing my lessons on the square, now, as I did before.” “And don’t go off the square again, if you please, sir,” repeated Hamish, “or you and I may quarrel. If Mr. Channing is not here, I am.” “You don’t know how tyrannical the college boys are.” “Don’t I!” said Hamish. “I was a college boy rather longer than you have yet been, Master Charley.” He sat down to the table and so cleared Charley’s difficulties that the boy soon went on swimmingly, and Hamish left him. “How do you get on, Tom?” Hamish asked. “Better than I need,” was Tom’s answer, delivered somewhat roughly. “After the injustice done me yesterday, it does not much matter how I get on.” Hamish turned himself round to the fire, and said no more, neither attempting to console nor remonstrate. Charles’s ears were listening for the quarter past seven, and, the moment it chimed out, he left his work, took his trencher from the hall, and departed, saying nothing to any one. He went along whistling, past Dr. Gardner’s house, past the deanery; they and the cathedral tower, rising above them, looked grey in the moonlight. He picked up a stone and sent it right into one of the elm trees; some of the birds, disturbed from their roost, flew out, croaking, over his head. In the old days of superstition it might have been looked upon as an evil omen, coupled with what was to follow. Ah, Charley! if you could only foresee what is before you! If Mrs. Channing, from her far-off sojourn, could but know what grievous ill is about to overtake her boy!