"And that fellow on the floor?" "Woodman," said James Wren. "I say, Woodman, don't you hear? Can't you get up when you're spoken to?" Woodman shut his book, keeping, however, a finger in the place, and got up awkwardly. He was one of the smallest of the boys, but he wore long trousers, and beneath them irons which jingled as he came forward with a shambling waddle. He had a queer little face, dark eyes and the lightest of hair; and he blushed a little as, alone among the boys, but clearly unconscious of the fact, he proceeded to shake hands with the new master. "So you are Woodman?" said Harry. "Yes, sir," said the boy. "Have you come instead of Mr. Scrafton, sir?" "No, I have come as well." At this there were groans, of which Harry thought it best to take no notice. He observed, however, that Woodman was not among the groaners, and to get upon safe ground he asked him what the book was. "One of Ballantyne's, sir. It's magnificent!" And the dark eyes glowed like coals in what was again a very pale face. "_The Red Eric_," said Harry, glancing at the book. "I remember it well. You're in an exciting place, eh?" "Yes, sir: the mutiny, sir." "Then don't let me stop you--run along!" said Harry, smiling; and Woodman was back on the floor and aboard his whaler before the new master realised that this was hardly the way in which he had been instructed to treat the boy who was always reading. But he went on chatting with the others, and in quite a few minutes he felt that, as between the boys and himself, all would be plain sailing. They were nice enough boys--one or two a little awkward--one or two vocally unacquainted with the first vowel--but all of them disposed to welcome a man (Harry thought) after the exclusive authority of resident ladies. Traces of a demoralising rule were not long in asserting themselves, as when Robertson gave Simes a sly kick, and Simes started off roaring to tell Mrs. Bickersteth, only to be hauled back by Harry and given to understand (evidently for the first time) that only little girls told tales. The bigger boys seemed to breathe again when he said so. Then they all stood at one of the windows in the failing light, and Harry talked cricket to them, and even mentioned his travels, whereat they clamoured for adventures; but the new master was not such a fool as to play all his best cards first. They were still at the window when the gate opened and in walked a squat silk-hatted gentleman with a yellow beard and an evening paper. "Here comes old Lennie!" exclaimed Gifford, who was the one with the most to say for himself. "Who?" said Harry. "Lennie Bickersteth, sir--short for Leonard," replied Gifford, while the other boys laughed. "But you mustn't speak of him like that," said Harry severely. "Oh, yes, I must!" cried Gifford, excited by the laughter. "We all call him Lennie, and Reggie Reggie, and Baby Baby; don't we, you fellows? Bicky likes us to--it makes it more like home."