Adamantus, who was one of the first boys in the school, was far from a comprehension of this dark saying; yet he felt himself to be rebuked, without knowing to what extent or why he should be. But shortly afterwards, when the play-hour came, and they ran out to indulge in their games in the small London garden, some of the older and graver boys, of whom Adamantus was one of the chief, stood apart to discuss what they were bound to consider an act of notorious partiality on the part of the master. That a mere small boy, a weak and foolish boy should be decorated with a much-coveted name for returning a ridiculous answer was one of those frank injustices that they felt obliged to resent. “Adamantus only means that I am a bit of a sticker at my books, which I don’t think I am really,” said the bearer of that name; “and who ever heard of Polycrates and Polydames?” “Yes, it is not fair,” said the bearer of the last of these names; “but then, he is an old fool. He is just an old dodderer.” When the boys had gone forth to the garden, the master said to his new pupil, “Will you not go out and make their acquaintance, Achilles?” For answer the boy clasped his fingers about the master’s sleeve. He had grown dumb with terror. “So be it,” said the old man, regarding him with pity and concealed tenderness. A little while afterwards the boy rose suddenly of his own motion from the master’s table. “Where are you going, Achilles?” said the master. “I--I am g-going, s-sir, to the garden to the boys,” he stammered. As he walked out through the door his gaunt cheeks were like death. He crept into the garden with the greatest caution and secrecy. He hardly dared to breathe lest he should be heard, he feared to move lest he should be seen. Crouching against the wall, moving neither foot nor hand, he longed to stop the motions of his heart. They were so loud that he felt they were bound to be noticed. His fears proved to be well founded. A tall, heavy, puffy boy with vivid red hair came near. He was trying to kick the cap of another boy, who was much smaller than himself, over the wall. By an odd misadventure one of these attempts landed it full in the face of the trembling intruder. “Hullo, New Boy!” said the boy with red hair. He gave the cap a final kick, which lifted it among the branches of the only tree the garden contained. He then turned his attention to his important discovery. He moistened his lips with his tongue, and gave an anticipatory leer to the figure that shrank away from him. “New Boy,” he said, “what is your name?” “I--I d-don’t t-think I know, sir,” the boy stammered. “D-don’t t-think you know your name, New Boy,” said the boy with red hair, with polite deprecation. “How odd!” Almost as quick as thought the boy with red hair took the boy’s arm in what seemed to be the grip of a giant and twisted it ferociously. The boy gave a little yelp of agony and stupefaction.