“I have done no harm,” said Nello, with a sob in his voice; and the head boy called out, good-humouredly enough, though the thunder of his boyish bass sounded to Nello like the voice of doom, to “let him be.” “What’s he got there?” he asked. The basket was snatched from the child’s hand, notwithstanding his resistance. Nello gave a great cry when it was taken from him. “Oh, my bird, my pigeon, my bird!--you are not to hurt my bird.” “Give it here,” said the head boy. But the first who had seized the treasure held it fast. “I’ve got it, and I’ll keep it,” he cried. “Give it here!” shouted the other. The conflict and the cloud of big forms, and the rough voices and snatchings, filled Nello with speechless dismay. He leaned back against his bed, and watched with feelings indescribable the basket which contained his treasure pulled and dragged about from one to another. First the handle gave way, then the lid was torn off, as one after another snatched at it. Oh, why was Nello so small and weak, and the others so big and strong! “Give it here!” shouted the head boy; but in the midst of the scuffle, something happened which frightened them all--the bird got loose, carefully as it had been secured, flew up over their heads, fluttered for a moment, driven wild by the cloud of arms stretched out to catch it, and then, with a sweep of its wings, darted out through the open window, and was seen no more. CHAPTER XXX. A CHILD FORLORN. Nello sobbed himself to sleep that night, scarcely conscious of the hubbub that was going on around him. He had watched with a pang unspeakable the escape of his bird, then had rushed blindly among the culprits, fighting and struggling in a passion of tears and childish rage, raining down harmless blows all around him, struggling to get out after it, to try to bring it back. Then Nello had been caught, too desperate to know who held him, in the hands of the head boy, who paid no more attention to his kicks and struggles than to his cries, and held him until, half dead with passion and misery, the poor little fellow sank exhausted, almost fainting, in the rough hands of his captors. Then the boys, who were not cruel, laid him on his bed and summoned Mrs. Swan. They all crowded round her to tell their story. Nobody had meant any harm. They had taken his basket to look at it, and the pigeon had got loose. “And it was a carrier!” the head boy said regretfully. They were as sorry as Nello could be, though by this time, under the combined influences of loneliness, desolation, homesickness, weariness, and loss, poor little Nello was almost beyond feeling the full extent of his troubles. “He’s a mammy’s boy,” said Mrs. Swan, who was rough, but not unkind. “He has never been at school before. A spoiled child, by all I can see.” But why had a spoiled child been sent here? This was what the good woman could not understand.