Unlucky boast! Not an hour had pa.s.sed, the lights in the windows round the courtyard had vanished, the distant shouts had ceased, and the footsteps on the pavement without had died away, when George was startled by a sound that seemed like the boring of a hole under his fireplace. The noise grew, and other similar noises rose in different parts. What was it? Surely the gay students of Saint George's were not about to effect an amateur burglary on the friendless owner of the "Mouse-trap?"

Nearer and nearer came the sounds, and George's heart beat loud. He closed his book and pushed his chair back from the table, ready to defend himself, on an emergency, to the bitter end. Then, under the hearth, there was a sound of sc.r.a.ping and grating, then a rushing noise, and then George saw--two enormous rats!

Loud and long laughed my master to himself at the discovery. What cared _he_ for rats? He pulled his chair back to the table, and buried himself in his book for the next three hours, until his lamp began to burn low, and the letters on the pages grew blurred and dim, and the rats had scuffled back by the way they came, and my flagging hands pointed to four o'clock.

Then George Reader, after kneeling in silent prayer, went to bed.

Note 1. At the college races at Cambridge the boats start one behind the other at fixed distances, and any boat overtaking and "b.u.mping" the one in front of it moves up a place nearer to the "Head of the River."

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

HOW MY MASTER FARED AT SAINT GEORGE'S COLLEGE AND MET AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF THE READER'S THERE.

It is not my intention in these pages to give a full and particular account of George Reader's college life. It would neither be on the whole interesting, nor would it be found to have much bearing on my own career, which is the ostensible theme of the present veracious history.

Stories of college life have furnished amusing material for many a book before now, to which the reader must turn, should his curiosity in that direction require to be satisfied. The life of a hard--a too hard- working student in his cell under the college staircase is neither amusing nor sensational, and it is quite enough to say that, after his first eventful evening, George Reader pursued his studies with unflagging ardour, though with greater precaution than ever.

He soon discovered which hours of the day and night were most favourable for uninterrupted work.

He made a point of taking his const.i.tutional during the hour made hideous by the ill-starred aspirant on the ophicleide. He invested in a trap for the rats, which, with the aid of his mother's cheese, yielded him a nightly harvest of victims, and he arranged with Benson, the "gyp," not to interrupt him, preferring rather to wait on himself--nay, even to dust out his own room--than have to sacrifice precious time while the same offices were being performed by another, especially by such an overpowering and awe-inspiring person as Benson.

So he set himself to work, attending lectures by day, reading every night into the small hours, spending scarcely anything, shrinking from all acquaintanceships, taking only a minimum of recreation, and living almost the life of a hermit, until I could see his cheeks grow pale, and his eyes dark round the rims, and feared for his health.

He treated me uniformly well. Of course, as the gift of his fellow- villagers, he prized me highly, but by no means consigned me to the stately repose of a purely ornamental treasure. I lay nightly beside his elbow on the table, and counted for him the hours as they sped from night to morning. I lay beneath his pillow at night, and helped him to rise betimes. I insured his punctual attendance at lectures, and drove him home from his scanty walks in the fresh air more quickly than I myself would have cared to do if I could have helped it. In short, I found myself in the satisfactory position of one thoroughly useful in his sphere of life, and on the whole, though my first young master returned constantly to my thoughts, I contrived to be very happy in my new capacity.

Two events, however, both of a pleasant nature, served to vary the monotony of George's second term at college. The first of these was a visit from his friend and patron, Dr Wilkins, the rector of Muggerbridge.

George was sitting at his modest breakfast one morning, when his door suddenly opened, and the well-known and beloved face of his old tutor lit up the apartment.

My master sprang to his feet, and with unaffected joy rushed forward to welcome his guest, before it had do much as occurred to him into what uninviting quarters he was receiving him.

"How good of you to come, sir!" he cried. "I never expected such happiness."

"You don't suppose I should go through Cambridge and never beat up your quarters, my boy! But, dear me, how ill you are looking!"

"Am I? I don't feel ill."

"Humph! you're overdoing it. But aren't you going to offer me some breakfast?"

George coloured, and his spirits sank as his eyes fell on the scanty fare of which he himself had been partaking.

"It's only bread-and-b.u.t.ter," he said.

"And what better?" said Dr Wilkins, sitting down; "and I warrant the b.u.t.ter's good if it's your mother's making."

"So it is," said George, beginning to recover his spirits. "And how did you leave them at home, sir?"

"First-rate, my boy;--looking much better than you are. And so this is your den? Well, it's--"

"Nothing very grand," put in George.

"Exactly, nothing very grand; but I dare say you find it as good a place to read in as a drawing-room, eh? Now tell me all about yourself, my boy, while I drink this good tea of yours."

And George, with light heart and beaming face, told his good friend of all his doings, his hardships, his difficulties, his triumphs, and his ambitions.

And Dr Wilkins sat and listened with pride and thankfulness at heart, to find his young _protege_ the same earnest, unaffected boy he had parted with from Muggerbridge six months before. They talked for a long time that morning. The tutor and boy pa.s.sed in review all the work hitherto accomplished and discussed the programme of future study. Many were the wholesome counsels the elder gave to the younger, and many were the new hopes and resolutions which filled the lad's heart as he opened all his soul to his good friend.

"And now," said Dr Wilkins, "I want you to take me to see your college and chapel."

George looked perplexed. Who was _he_ to conduct a Doctor of Divinity over his college. Such a hermit's life had he led that he hardly knew the ins and outs of the place himself, and there was not a single man in the college to whom he was not a stranger.

"I'm afraid you've chosen a bad guide," faltered he. "I don't know any of the men, and very little of the place."

"Oh, never mind that," said the doctor; "it will be all the more interesting to make a tour of discovery, so come along!"

George put on his cap and gown and obeyed. For a moment he wished the gown had been long enough to conceal the patch on the knee of his trousers, but the next he laughed at himself for his vanity.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of," thought he, "and if it _is_ patched--well, it is."

And thus consoling himself, he accompanied the doctor across the quadrangle.

Men certainly did stare at him as he pa.s.sed, and some of them deemed him a queer "specimen," and others wondered what Saint George's was coming to. But my master, if he noticed their looks, disregarded them, and as for Dr Wilkins, he smiled to himself to think how p.r.o.ne mankind is to judge by appearances.

"Unless I mistake," mused he to himself, "these young sparks of Saint George's will some day think fit to be proud of their poor fellow- collegian."

The two made the tour of the college, and finished up with the grand old Gothic chapel. It was easy to guess why George's face lit up as he approached the place. The deep notes of an organ were sounding across the quadrangle, and as they entered the door a flood of harmony swept towards them down the long aisles. Dr Wilkins could feel the boy's arm tremble, and heard the sigh of delight which escaped his lips. Without a word they sat in the nearest stalls, and listened while the music went on. How it rose and fell, how it trembled in the oak arches of the roof, and swept through the choir down to where they sat! It was only an ordinary organist's practice; but to George, after his hard work, and with the memories of home revived by the presence of his dear tutor, it came as a breath from heaven. Daily, nearly, had he heard that organ since his coming to Cambridge, but never had it delighted him as it did now.

"Can we see the organ?" he said, when the last chord had died away.

"Let us try," said the doctor.

The gallery door was open, and ascending the stairs to the organ loft, they found the organist preparing to depart.

"We have been a clandestine audience," said the doctor, "and couldn't help coming to thank you for the treat you have given us. My young friend here is music mad."

The organist smiled.

"You took me at a disadvantage," he said, "I was only amusing myself."

"Whatever you were doing for yourself, you delighted us," said the doctor.

"Would you like to try the organ?" presently said the organist to George.

Oh, what a bound of delight I could feel in my master's breast at the invitation.