making Moffatt's a great school—that was, he truly believed, the one aim and object of every man and boy in Moffatt's—they might be sure that was the one and only aim and object that he ever kept before him. He had nothing more to do but introduce Sir Arthur Spalding, who would give away the prizes. Mr. Moy-Thompson sat down, hot and inspired, amidst a burst of frantic cheering and clapping, but was suddenly chilled by the consciousness of Mr. Perrin's eyes glaring at him in the strangest manner across the room. He shifted his chair a little to the left, so that a boy's head intervened. The Governing Body at the conclusion of his speech moved their heads to the right, then to the left, smiled once, and resumed their immovability. Sir Arthur Spalding was nervous, but found courage to say that he believed in our public schools—that was the thing that made men of us—he should never forget what he himself owed to Harrow. He should like to say one thing to the boys—that they were not to think that winning prizes was everything. We couldn't all win prizes; let those who failed to obtain them remember that “slow and steady wins the race.” It wasn't always the boys who won prizes who got on best afterwards. No—um—ah—he never used to win prizes at school himself. It wasn't always the boys—here he pulled himself up and remembered that he had said it before. There was something else that he'd wanted to say, but he'd quite forgotten what it was. Here he was conscious of Mr. Perrin's eyes and thought that he'd never seen anything so discouraging. He did not seem to be able to escape them. What a dangerous-looking man! So he hurriedly concluded. Just one word he'd like to leave them from our great poet Tennyson—! He looked for the little piece of paper on which he had written the verse. He could not find it; he searched his pockets—no—where had he put it? Lady Spalding, in the third row, suffered horrible agonies. He recovered himself and was vague. He would advise them all to read Tennyson, a fine poet, a very fine poet—yes—and now he would give away the prizes. IV. Meanwhile, Mr. Perrin up to the commencement of Mr. Moy-Thompson's speech, had been merely conscious that a period of waiting had, so to speak, “to be put in.” He was not aware, in the very least, that his eyes were causing both Sir Arthur Spalding and Mr. Moy-Thompson acute discomfort; he was not aware that boys were looking at him, watching him with eager curiosity and nudging one another, speculatively. He was not aware that Isabel's eyes were upon him, eyes of pity “because he looked so queer, as though he had a headache.”