Stephen quickly dashed away a tear and looked up. "Where's Greenfield?" demanded the small boy. "He's in school," replied Stephen. "Hullo! what are you blubbering at?" cried the small boy, growing very bold and patronising all of a sudden, "eh?" Stephen did not answer this home question. "I suppose you are a new kid, just left your mammy?" observed the other, with the air of a man of forty; "what's your name, young 'un?" "Stephen Greenfield." "Oh, my! is it? What form are you in?" "I don't know yet." "Haven't you been examined?" "No, not yet." "Oh, of course; old Senior's away. Never mind, you'll catch it to-morrow, blub-baby!" This last epithet was thrown in in such a very gratuitous and offensive way, that Stephen did not exactly like it. The small youth, however, finding himself in a bantering mood, pursued his questions with increasing venom. "I suppose they call you Steenie at home?" he observed, with a sneer that was meant to be quite annihilating. "No, they don't," replied Stephen; "mother calls me Steevie." "Oh, Steevie, does she? Well, Steevie, were you ever licked over the knuckles with a ruler?" "No," replied Stephen; "why?" "Because you will be--I know who'll do it, too, and kick you on the shins, too, if you're cheeky!" Stephen was quite at a loss whether to receive this piece of news in the light of information or a threat. He was inclined to believe it the latter; and as he was a rash youth, he somewhat tartly replied, "_You_ won't!" The small boy looked astounded--not that he ever contemplated attempting the chastisement about which he had talked; but the idea of a new boy defying _him_, one of the chosen leaders of the Tadpoles, who had been at Saint Dominic's two years, was amazing. He glared at the rash Stephen for half a minute, and then broke out, "Won't I? that's all! you see, you pretty little blubber boy! Yow-ow-ow! little sneak! why don't you cut behind your mammy's skirt, if you're afraid? I would cry if I were you. Where's his bottle? Poor infant! Yow-ow-boo-boo!" This tornado, delivered with increasing vehemence and offensiveness, quite overpowered Stephen, who stared at the boy as if he had been a talking frog. That youth evidently seemed to expect that his speech would produce a far deeper impression than it did, for he looked quite angry when Stephen made no reply. "Wretched little sneak!" the amiable one continued; "I suppose he'll go peaching to his big brother. Never mind, _we'll_ pay you out, see if we don't! Go and kiss your mammy, and tell your big brother what they did to little duckie Steevie, did they then? they shouldn't! Give him a suck of his bottle! oh, my!" and he finished up with a most withering laugh. Then, suddenly remembering his errand, he walked up to the table, and said, "I want that inkpot!" Now was Stephen's time. He was just in the humour for an argument with this young Philistine. "What for?" "What's that to you? give it up!"