My handbag, for certain reasons, I carried with me unlocked. It contained, to tell the truth, the hat and gloves and tan boots and other _articles de rigueur_ which I did not exactly like to start off in, but which I was resolved to don during the journey, so as to dawn on the Low Heath horizon altogether "up to Cocker," as Tempest would say. At the last moment my spirits failed me a little. I had been so taken up with my own plans that I had almost forgotten I was leaving my mother solitary, and turning my back on the sunshine of affection which during the last year had come to be such a natural and soothing feature of my surroundings. "Don't forget the old home, Tommy," she said. "God bless you and keep you good, and innocent, and honest! Don't be led astray by bad companions, but try to help others to be good. And, Tommy dear, don't try to be a man just yet--be the dear boy you are--don't try to be anything else, and--" But here the train began to move, and there was barely time for a farewell kiss. What she said ran rather in my head, especially the last exhortation, which I was sorry she had uttered. For I was quite sure she was referring to my nervous desire to do everything correctly at the new school; and it grieved me that she should speak of it as trying to be something I was not. Of course I would remember all she said. There was not much fear of my being led astray; it was much more likely that I, as an exhibitioner, would be looked up to by some of the ordinary small boys to show them a lead. What with Tempest to befriend me at headquarters, and my prestige as a scholar, and the fact that I knew a pretty good deal about school already, it was as likely as not I might be instrumental in helping one or two lame dogs over the stiles of their first term. My only travelling companion was a motherly sort of person of the farmer class, who eyed me affectionately--too affectionately to please me--and attempted to condole with me on the sorrow of leaving home. "Never mind, dearie," said she--Cheek! for a stranger to call a chap "dearie." "You'll be a bit lonely at first, so you will; but you'll get used to it, and it won't be so long to holiday time, and then you'll see mamma again." I wished she wouldn't. She misunderstood me. I wasn't thinking about the holidays at all. The fact was, I was thinking about my boots and hat in the bag, and wondering when I should put them on. Bother it! Why should I mind her or her remarks? Some other new chap might get in at the next station, and I couldn't change before him. I'd better get myself up to form now, and so be ready.