"Forgive you, kid! If I'd time I'd thrash you within an inch of your life for being such a fool, and then I'd thank you for being such a trump--you and Brown too." "Is it too late to do anything now?" asked I again. "Not for me--nothing would keep me here. But I don't see why you should be expelled. I'll tell Plummer it was a mistake." "No, you won't," said I, catching his arm. "I wouldn't stay here now for worlds." "It's rough all round," said Tempest, looking profoundly miserable, as the rumble of a cab came up to the hall door. "What will your mater say, kid?" "She'll understand. I hope she won't send me back though." "Get her to send you to Low Heath." "She couldn't afford it. You'll write to me, Dux?" "Most likely. Tell Brown how sorry I am." "Now, Tempest, ready?" said Mr Ramsbottom. "Good-bye, kid. I sha'n't forget you." Next minute he was off, and I was left alone. I do not deny that for a moment or two I found it convenient to rub my eyes. It was a hot day, and the light through the window was dazzling, I think. Then to my relief up came my cab, and under the stalwart escort of Mrs Potts, the matron, I quitted Dangerfield for good. My journey home was, as may be imagined, not a festive one. What would my mother say, or my guardian? What version of the story had Plummer given them? It consoled me to work myself up into a fury as I sat in the corner of the railway carriage, and prepare an indictment of his conduct which should make my conduct appear not only justifiable, but heroic. Alas! heroism can rarely endure the rattle of a long railway journey. Long before we reached Fallowfield my heart was in my boots, and my fierceness had all evaporated. But a year ago my father had died, leaving me, his only child, to be the comfort and support of my mother. What message of comfort or support was I carrying home to-day? What would my guardian, who had given me such yards of stern advice about honouring my betters, say when he heard? Should I be sent to an office to run errands, or passed on to a school for troublesome boys, or left to knock about with no one to care what became of me? With such pleasant misgivings in my mind I reached Fallowfield, and braced myself up for the interview before me. CHAPTER FOUR. BRUSHING-UP THE CLASSICS. My guardian, I am bound to say, disappointed me. I had rather hoped, as I travelled home, that I would be able to put my conduct before him in such a way that he would think me rather a fine young fellow, and consider himself honoured in being my guardian. That my mother would take on, I felt sure. "Women," said I to myself--I was thirteen, and therefore was supposed to know what women thought about things--"women can't see below the surface of things. But old Girdler was a boy himself once, and knows what it is for a fellow to get into a row for being a brick."