Mr. Sant received me that morning, I thought, oddly, and made no allusion to my battered appearance. Neither did I, at which, perhaps, he cleared a little. The next morning Harry Harrier--for such was the young sportsman’s name--met me as before. I gave him the path, though with anger in my heart; and he openly jeered at me as he went by. The following day it was the same, and for many days after. He would have risked, I believe, ten times the punishment he deserved, and got, for being late, rather than baulk himself of this recurrent treat. Presently he altered his tactics in such a way as to eat his cake and have it, so to speak. He did not pass me one day at the usual hour, and I confess I breathed relief, for all my own inefficiency was gall to me. Mr. Sant’s manner, as was usual now, was chilling almost to repulsion. I was very unhappy. I had grown to brood on my grievance until it almost choked me. Dunberry was becoming to me a miserable Siberia, and I longed to be out of it, and hinted as much to my uncle. But, to my dejection, he would not understand--could not, perhaps, as pride had always prevented me from revealing my difficulty to him or to any of my real friends. Moreover, the picking-up of some trumpery oddments on the beach had by now established him unshakably in his craze, which had been further confirmed by the action of certain unscrupulous Dunberryites in palming off on him some faked-up coins, which I could have sworn had never been minted out of my own generation. The relief I enjoyed on this particular morning was, however, delusive. The cunning little gamekeeper had got himself credited with punctuality, only that he might descend upon me on his return journey as I left the rectory. Nor was this the worst; for he came reinforced by half a dozen schoolfellows, the dirty little parasites of his corduroy lordship. I found them awaiting me at a quiet turn of the road, and, before I knew it, was being hustled and insulted. I pushed my way through, however, with a lump swelling in my throat, and was trying to stifle the inclination to run, when a cry from Harrier brought me to the roundabout with a scarlet face. “Cowardy-cowardy-custard! Dursen’t peach to old Crazy, what broke his leg a-kicking of yer!” I rushed back and faced him. “He broke his leg falling from a parryshoot. He isn’t crazy. I’m not such a coward as you!” I blazed out in a breath. I was bristling and tingling all over. The worm had turned at last. Harry Harrier, whistling softly, took his hands from his pockets. “Yus?” he said. “Anythink else?” “You’re a liar!” I answered, boiling; “you’re a coward and liar!”