"Dear Mother,--You ask me if I am happy, and how I like school. I am not happy, and I hate Fellsgarth. Nobody cares about me. It's no use my trying to be what I am not. I am not a gentleman, and I hope I never shall be, if the fellows here are specimens. Just because I'm poor they have nothing to do with me. I don't complain of that. I prefer it. I'd much sooner be working for my living like father than wasting my time at a place like this. If those ladies would give the money they spend on keeping me here to you and father it would do much more good. There is only one boy I care about here, and he is a little fellow who was kind to me of his own accord, and doesn't fight shy of me because I've no money and live on charity. I would ever so much rather come and live at home at the end of this term. It would be even worse at Oxford than it is here; and the ladies, if they want to be kind, will let me leave. I know you and father want me to become a grand gentleman. I would a hundred times rather be what I really am, and live at home with you. "Your loving son,-- "Alfred." This dismal letter concluded, the writer produced his books and began work, heedless of the two letters on his table, which lay all day where Fisher minor had deposited them. He went in and out to class, and those who watched him saw no signs of trouble in his demeanour. In the afternoon he stole up to the river with his rod; and any one who had seen him land his three-pounder, and leave it, as he left all his fish, at Widow Wisdom's cottage, would have been puzzled by his indifferent air. That evening, as he was about to go to bed, he discovered the letters. Dangle's letter, which he opened first, he scarcely seemed to heed. The sight of the name at foot was sufficient. He crumpled it up and tossed it in the corner. But Yorke's aroused him. He read it through once or twice, and his face grew grim as he did so. Presently he went to the corner and picked up Dangle's letter and once more read it. Then he crumpled up both together, and instead of going to bed sat in his chair and looked at the wall straight in front of him. The next day those who watched him saw him go into school and out as usual, except that he seemed less listless and more observant. He glanced aside now and then at the groups of boys who stood and looked after him, and his face had a cloud on it which was almost thunderous. "Did you give my letter to Rollitt?" said Yorke to Fisher minor. "Yes, yesterday; and one from Dangle too," said the junior. "Dangle!" said the captain to himself; "he'll think we are in collusion. Why ever didn't I leave it alone?" He felt thus still more when later on in the day Dangle came over. "I hear you have written to Rollitt for an explanation. It was about time. What does he reply?" Yorke's back went up at the dictatorial tone of the inquiry. "If there is anything to tell you, you will hear," said he.