The usher sat at the top of the table, reading. Mrs Watson called his attention to Hugh; and Hugh stood up and made his bow. His face was red, as much with anger as timidity, when he recognised in him the passenger who had sat beside the coachman. "Perhaps, Mr Carnaby," said Mrs Watson, "you will find something for this young gentleman to do, when he has had his supper, while the rest are learning their lessons. To-morrow he will have his own lessons; but to-night--" "There is always the multiplication-table," replied Mr Carnaby. "The young gentleman is partial to that, I fancy." Hugh reddened, and applied himself to his bread and milk. "Never mind a joke," whispered Mrs Watson. "We won't plague you with the multiplication-table the first evening. I will find you a book or something. Meantime, there is a companion for you--I forgot that." The good lady went down the room, and brought back a boy who seemed to be doing all he could to stop crying. He dashed his hand over his eyes every minute, and could not look anybody in the face. He had finished his supper, and was at a loss what to do next, as he had only arrived that morning, and did not know anybody at Crofton. His name was Tom Holt, and he was ten years old. When they had told their names and ages, and where they came from, the boys did not know what to say next; and Hugh wished Phil would stop murmuring over his Sallust and looking in the dictionary every minute; but Mrs Watson did not forget the strangers. She brought them Cook's Voyages out of the library, to amuse themselves with, on condition of their delivering the book to Mr Carnaby at bedtime.