pered Dale, with a long breath, as he pressed Yes; isn't it jolly?" assented

Harefel's arm.

the other.

The elder boy walked on in silence. He felt half sad, as this long day faded slowly away in beauty. The light, which slanted across Brocas clump, only darkened the shadows among the great deep-bosomed trees. Not far off, the rafts were gleaming; crews were disembarking, boats being run up; all was hurry and bustle. Dale laid his hand on his friend's arm, and said, "It is so jolly to have you for a cousin." Harefel smiled pleasantly for answer. He was very fond of Dale, though he sometimes thought it a pity that he was "such an awfully odd sort of fellow."

с

34

CHAPTER IV.

THE LIBRARY ROW AT MURRAY'S.

THE growth of an Eton boy is marked by many small events. He changes his "sock"-shop or eating-house, passing from the modest patty at the wall to the snug home of the early bun and coffee; thence through a well-known shop, kitchen, and back-room; until, a full-blown swell, he saunters into a sanctum where, over the neatly-cut sandwich, matches are arranged and crews formed. He gets into the boats or into Upper Club, perhaps into the Society. But the most marked epoch in his career is going into tails. At the time of the great library row at Murray's, Dale had donned his tailed coat and tied his white tie, took an occasional breakfast in that secluded kitchen, had long ceased to fag, was a fair cricketer, and in his own eyes a person of some importance, and, moreover, with duties to

perform. He was a half-grown rebel. He neglected the school-work because it was appointed by authority. He laid hands eagerly on all books and pamphlets which gave him reasons for insubordination. He was not aware how great among the causes of his passion for liberty was self-assertion. The big fellows in the house had shown a disposition to snub him. In moments of confidence, this bold thinker poured out his aspirations to his cousin, who was not a little impressed. It was indeed wonderful to hear a fellow not much more than a year older than himself quote specimens of Parisian rhetoric, and rival them in his native tongue. It was an awful thing to speak slightingly of the weak moderation of Lafayette, whom Harefel knew to be somebody connected with revolutions. Of course,

people may say things in French which could not be endured in a more wholly intelligible language; but that was a fearful saying about property and theft, which even Dale himself uttered nervously. Harefel was convinced that his cousin was awfully clever, although he had been switched for idleness. He listened with due deference when the rebel, descending from vague dreams to a particular grievance, poured forth a flood of eloquence against Rule V. of the new library rules. He gravely repeated

the zealot's phrases to his friends. Their eyes were opened to injustice, and they scented a row. It

was a perilous time. through the house.

Slowly the discontent spread

Aubrey was the first to be fired, and straightway went mad with delight. Like a petrel, he flitted across the stormy waters. He danced round Dale, caught his pet phrases, mixed them wildly with the last new slang and terms of his own invention, set them to the last new comic tune, and sang them in the passages. Dale would have called him Camille, if it had not so affected a sound. It was a perilous time. There was an ominous stillness in the air. Lower boys came sluggishly to the call; were even heard to murmur. Bread was incompletely toasted, and rebuke met with an affectation of indifference. Lampoons appeared on the walls of the passage. It was the pause before the storm. A crisis was at hand.

The library, in which the obnoxious rules were hung, was deserted by all but the few oldest boys. There sat Kerisen in his peculiar chair, and cared not a jot for the coming commotion. "Must we have a row?" he asked, with a weary smile.

"Let us lick them all round, and get it over," suggested Loyd, a fair-haired, deep-chested young giant, who rowed 5 in the eight.

"You must do it, if it comes to that.

It is all your pig-headed old rule. I put it as mildly as I could for you."

Loyd grinned at his friend, whom he vastly admired. The big, active athlete, whose keenest pleasure was found in a long row and a pot of beer, had been early impressed by that air of weariness of the world, which is still rare among gentlemen in their teens. Kerisen liked to be Captain of the House, but was bored by the dignity. Greatness had been thrust upon him. It was troublesome to rule, and the governed must be made aware of the fact. He was a graceful scholar, who sneered at scholarship; a pretty cricketer, who seemed to neglect his cricket; a wit, who was sickened by the repetition of his sayings. He did all things well, because he could not help it.

"The House is awfully quiet to-night," remarked Loyd, after a pause.

"There is some mischief brewing," said Kerisen, turning his paper. In a moment he looked up comically at his friend. The unusual silence was at an end. There was a sound of many steps upon the wooden stairs, a buzz of voices, a bustle in the passage. Presently the door was pushed open, and Dale appeared, supported by Harefel and Aubrey,