“Don’t be afraid of the boys or show embarrassment or discomfort before them,” continued Dr. Davenport, “and on the other hand don’t try to cultivate dignity by being cold and austere. Be natural with them—but always be the master.—There!” he broke off, smiling, for he saw that Irving looked worried and seemed to be taking all this as personal criticism—“that’s the talk that I always give to a new master; and now I’m done. Here is a printed copy of the rules and regulations which I advise you to study; you must try to familiarize yourself with our customs before any of the boys arrive. To-morrow the new boys will come, and you will report for duty at the Gymnasium, where the entrance examinations will be held. You will find your room in the Sixth Form dormitory, at the Upper School. I hope you will like the life here, Mr. Upton—and I wish you every possible success in it.” The rector gave him an encouraging handshake and another friendly smile. But Irving departed feeling depressed and afraid. He had seen that the rector was disappointed in him—in his appearance, in his manner. And the rector’s little speech had given him the clue. Until now, he had not much considered how large a part of his work would be in the management and the discipline of the boys; the mere teaching of them was what had been in his mind, and for that he felt perfectly competent. In college, that was all that the tutoring, in which he had been so successful, meant. But, confronted by the necessity of establishing and maintaining friendly human relations with a lot of strange boys, Irving for the first time questioned his qualifications, realizing that the rector too was questioning them. He became more cheerful the next day, when the new boys began to arrive and he found himself at once with work to do. He had mastered pretty thoroughly the names of the buildings and the geography of the place, and it was rather pleasant to be able to give information and directions to those younger and more ignorant than himself. It was pleasant, too, to have one mother who was wandering round vaguely with her small son and to whom he shyly proffered assistance, show such appreciation of his courtesy and end by appealing to him to keep always a friendly eye on her little forlorn Walter. As it turned out, Irving never afterwards came much into contact with the boy, who lived in a different building and was not in any of his classes; he asked about him from time to time, and discovered that Walter was a mischievous person, not troubled by homesickness. But most agreeable and reassuring was it to take charge of the examination-room, where the new boys were undergoing the tests of their scholarship. Most of them were candidates for the Second, Third, and Fourth Forms, and their ages ranged from twelve to fifteen; Irving sat at a desk on the platform and surveyed them while they worked, or tiptoed down the aisle in response to an appeal from some uplifted hand.