Tom would say nothing, only reflecting that his elder brother was harder upon him than any one else would be, and Norman grew warmer. "If you let Anderson junior get hold of you, and teach you his tricks, you'll never be good for anything. He seems good-natured now, but he will turn against you, as he did with Harry. I know how it is, and you had better take my word, and trust to me and straightforwardness, when you get into a mess."

"I'm in no scrape," said Tom, so doggedly, that Norman lost patience, and spoke with more displeasure. "You will be then, if you go out of bounds, and run Anderson's errands, and shirk work. You'd better take care. It is my place to keep order, and I can't let you off for being my brother; so remember, if I catch you going to Ballhatchet's again, you may make sure of a licking."

So the warning closed--Tom more alarmed at the aspect of right, which he fancied terrific, and Norman with some compunction at having lost temper and threatened, when he meant to have gained him by kindness.

Norman recollected his threat with a qualm of dismay when, at the end of the week, as he was returning from a walk with Cheviot, Tom darted out of the gate-house. He was flying across the bridge, with something under his arm, when Norman laid a detaining hand on his collar, making a sign at the same time to Cheviot to leave them.

"What are you doing here?" said Norman sternly, marching Tom into the field. "So you've been there again. What's that under your jacket?"

"Only--only what I was sent for," and he tried to squeeze it under the flap.

"What is it? a bottle--"

"Only--only a bottle of ink."

Norman seized it, and gave Tom a fierce angry shake, but the indignation was mixed with sorrow. "Oh, Tom, Tom, these fellows have brought you a pretty pass. Who would have thought of such a thing from us!"

Tom cowered, but felt only terror.

"Speak truth," said Norman, ready to shake it out of him; "is this for Anderson junior?"

Under those eyes, flashing with generous, sorrowful wrath, he dared not utter another falsehood, but Anderson's threats chained him, and he preferred his thraldom to throwing himself on the mercy of his brother who loved him. He would not speak.

"I am glad it is not for yourself," said Norman; "but do you remember what I said, in case I found you there again?"

"Oh! don't, don't!" cried the boy. "I would never have gone if they had not made me."

"Made you?" said Norman, disdainfully, "how?"

"They would have thrashed me--they pinched my fingers in the box--they pulled my ears--oh, don't--"

"Poor little fellow!" said Norman; "but it is your own fault. If you won't keep with me, or Ernescliffe, of course they will bully you. But I must not let you off--I must keep my word!" Tom cried, sobbed, and implored in vain. "I can't help it," he said, "and now, don't howl! I had rather no one knew it. It will soon be over. I never thought to have this to do to one of us." Tom roared and struggled, till, releasing him, he said, "There, that will do. Stop bellowing, I was obliged, and I can't have hurt you much, have I?" he added more kindly, while Tom went on crying, and turning from him. "It is nothing to care about, I am sure; look up;" and he pulled down his hands. "Say you are sorry--speak the truth--keep with me, and no one shall hurt you again."

Very different this from Tom's chosen associates; but he was still obdurate, sullen, and angry, and would not speak, nor open his heart to those kind words. After one more, "I could not help it, Tom, you've no business to be sulky," Norman took up the bottle, opened it, smelled, and tasted, and was about to throw it into the river; when Tom exclaimed, "Oh, don't, don't! what will they do to me? give it to me!"

"Did they give you the money to pay for it?"

"Yes; let me have it."

"How much was it?"

"Fourpence."

"I'll settle that," and the bottle splashed in the river. "Now then, Tom, don't brood on it any more. Here's a chance for you of getting quit of their errands. If you will keep in my sight. I'll take care no one bullies you, and you may still leave off these disgraceful tricks, and do well."

But Tom's evil spirit whispered that Norman had beaten him, that he should never have any diversion again, and that Anderson would punish him; and there was a sort of satisfaction in seeing that his perverse silence really distressed his brother.

"If you will go on in this way, I can't help it, but you'll be sorry some day," said Norman, and he walked thoughtfully on, looking back to see whether Tom was following, as he did slowly, meditating on the way how he should avert his tyrant's displeasure.

Norman stood for a moment at the door, surveying the court, then walked up to a party of boys, and laid his hand on the shoulder of one, holding a silver fourpence to him. "Anderson Junior," said he, "there's your money. I am not going to let Stoneborough School be turned into a gin palace. I give you notice, it is not to be. Now you are not to bully May junior for telling me. He did not, I found him out."

Leaving Anderson to himself he looked for Tom, but not seeing him, he entered the cloister, for it was the hour when he was used to read there, but he could not fix his mind. He went to the bench where he had lain on the examination day, and kneeling on it, looked out on the green grass where the graves were. "Mother! mother!" he murmured, "have I been harsh to your poor little tender sickly boy? I couldn't help it. Oh! if you were but here! We are all going wrong! What shall I do? How should Tom be kept from this evil?--it is ruining him! mean, false, cowardly, sullen--all that is worst--and your son--oh! mother! and all I do only makes him shrink more from me. It will break my father's heart, and you will not be there to comfort him."

Norman covered his face with his hands, and a fit of bitter grief came over him. But his sorrow was now not what it had been before his father's resignation had tempered it, and soon it turned to prayer, resolution, and hope.

He would try again to reason quietly with him, when the alarm of detection and irritation should have gone off, and he sought for the occasion; but, alas! Tom had learned to look on all reproof as "rowing,"

and considered it as an additional injury from a brother, who, according to the Anderson view, should have connived at his offences, and turned a deafened ear and dogged countenance to all he said. The foolish boy sought after the Andersons still more, and Norman became more dispirited about him, greatly missing Harry, that constant companion and follower, who would have shared his perplexities, and removed half of them, in his own part of the school, by the influence of his high, courageous, and truthful spirit.

In the meantime Richard was studying hard at home, with greater hopefulness and vigour than he had ever thrown into his work before.

"Suppose," Ethel had once said to him, "that when you are a clergyman, you could be Curate of Cocksmoor, when there is a church there."

"When?" said Richard, smiling at the presumption of the scheme, and yet it formed itself into a sort of definite hope. Perhaps they might persuade Mr. Ramsden to take him as a curate with a view to Cocksmoor, and this prospect, vague as it was, gave an object and hope to his studies. Every one thought the delay of his examination favourable to him, and he now read with a determination to succeed. Dr. May had offered to let him read with Mr. Harrison but Richard thought he was getting on pretty well, with the help Norman gave him; for it appeared that ever since Norman's return from London, he had been assisting Richard, who was not above being taught by a younger brother; while, on the other hand, Norman, much struck by his humility, would not for the world have published that he was fit to act as his elder's tutor.

One evening, when the two boys came in from school, Tom gave a great start, and, pulling Mary by the sleeve, whispered, "How came that book here?"

"It is Mr. Harrison's."

"Yes, I know, but how came it here?"

"Richard borrowed it to look out something, and Ethel brought it down."

A little reassured, Tom took up an exciting story-book, and ensconced himself by the fire, but his agonies were great during the ensuing conversation.

"Norman," Ethel was exclaiming in delight, "do you know this book?"

"Smith? Yes, it is in the school library."

"There's everything in it that one wants, I do believe. Here is such an account of ancient galleys--I never knew how they managed their banks of rowers before--oh! and the Greek houses--look at the pictures too."

"Some of them are the same as Mr. Rivers's gems," said Norman, standing behind her, and turning the leaves, in search of a favourite.

"Oh! what did I see? is that ink?" said Flora, from the opposite side of the table.

"Yes, didn't you hear?" said Ethel. "Mr. Harrison told Ritchie when he borrowed it, that unluckily one day this spring he left it in school, and some of the boys must have upset an inkstand over it; but, though he asked them all round, each denied it. How I should hate for such things to happen! and it was a prize-book too."

While Ethel spoke she opened the marked page, to show the extent of the calamity, and as she did so Mary exclaimed, "Dear me! how funny! why, how did Harry's blotting-paper get in there?"

Tom shrank into nothing, set his teeth, and pinched his fingers, ready to wish they were on Mary's throat, more especially as the words made some sensation. Richard and Margaret exchanged looks, and their father, who had been reading, sharply raised his eyes and said, "Harry's blotting-paper! How do you know that, Mary?"

"It is Harry's," said she, all unconscious, "because of that anchor up in one corner, and the Union Jack in the other. Don't you see, Ethel?"

"Yes," said Ethel; "nobody drew that but Harry."

"Ay, and there are his buttons," said Mary, much amused and delighted with these relics of her beloved Harry. "Don't you remember one day last holidays, papa desired Harry to write and ask Mr. Ernescliffe what clothes he ought to have for the naval school, and all the time he was writing the letter, he was drawing sailors' buttons on his blotting-paper. I wonder how ever it got into Mr. Harrison's book!"

Poor Mary's honest wits did not jump to a conclusion quite so fast as other people's, and she little knew what she was doing when, as a great discovery, she exclaimed, "I know! Harry gave his paper-case to Tom.

That's the way it got to school!"

"Tom!" exclaimed his father, suddenly and angrily, "where are you going?"