"That's just it, my boy. If he doesn't mean to do it, why on earth does he do it? I shall be sorry if he's expelled, very sorry. But come on; don't mind if I walk too fast," added he, hobbling along by Stephen's side. Stephen did not know what to think. If Ricketts had not addressed his companion as "Tony" he would have fancied he was one of the masters, he spoke with such an air of condescension. Stephen felt very uncomfortable, too, to hear what had been told him about Oliver. If he had not been told, he could not have believed his brother was anything but perfection. "I'm lame, you see," said Pembury, presently. "You are quite sure you see? Look at my left leg." "I see," said Stephen, blushing; "I--I hope it doesn't hurt." "Only when I wash my face. But never mind that Vulcan was lame too, but then he never washed. You know who Vulcan was, of course?" "No, I don't think so," faltered Stephen, beginning to feel very uneasy and ignorant. "Not know Vulcan! My eye! where have you been brought up? Then of course you don't know anything about the Tenth Fiji War? No? I thought not. Dreadful! We shall have to see what you do know. Come on." Stephen entered Saint Dominic's thoroughly crestfallen, and fully convinced he was the most ignorant boy that ever entered a public school. The crowds of boys in the playground frightened him, and even the little boys inspired him with awe. _They_, at any rate, had heard of Vulcan, and knew about the Tenth Fiji War! "Here," said Anthony, "is your brother's study. Sit here till he returns, and make the most of your time, for you'll have to put your best foot foremost to-morrow in the Doctor's examination." So saying, he left abruptly, and the poor lad found himself alone, in about as miserable a frame of mind as a new boy would wish to be in. He looked about the study; there were some shelves with books on them. There was a little bed let into the wall on one side; there was an easy-chair, and what professed to be a sofa; and there was a pile of miscellanies, consisting of bats and boots and collars and papers, heaped up in the corner, which appeared to be the most abundantly furnished portion of the little room. Stephen sat there, very dismal, and wishing himself home again once more, when the door suddenly opened and a small boy of his own age appeared. "Hullo! What do you want?" demanded this hero. "I'm waiting for my brother." "Who's your brother?" "Oliver Greenfield." "Oh, all right! you can get his tea as well as I can; you'll find all the things in the cupboard there. And look here, tell him Bullinger wants to know if he can lend him some jam--about half a pint, tell him." Poor Stephen! even the small boys ordered him about, and regarded him as nobody. He would fain have inquired of this young gentleman something about Vulcan, and have had the advantage of his experience in the preparation of his brother's tea; but the youth seemed pressed for time, and vanished.