position both in and out of school. The other two had nicknames which were not for the lips of new boys; but Jan called Bingley "Toby" after the first night.
Prayers were in houses on the first morning of the term, and nothing else happened before or after breakfast until the whole school assembled in the big schoolroom at ten o'clock to hear the new school order. Jan pulled his cap over his eyes as he found himself wedged in a crowd from all the houses, converging at the base of the worn stone spiral stair up and down which he had trotted at his ease between the papers of the previous day. Now he was slowly hoisted in the press, the breath crushed from his body, his toes only occasionally encountering a solid step, a helpless atom in a monster's maw. At the top of the stone stairs, however, and through the studded oak door, there was room for all; but here it was necessary to uncover face and head; and yet none that he knew of old was revealed to Jan's close though furtive scrutiny.
Carpenter, who had come with him, and squeezed into the next seat, watched the watcher in his turn, and then whispered:
"He's not come back yet."
"Who's not?"
"Evan Devereux. I asked a fellow in his house."
"What made you think of him now?"
"Oh, nothing. I only thought you might be looking to see if he was here."
"Well, perhaps I was," said Jan, with grumpy candour. "But I'm sure I don't care where he is."
"No more do I, goodness knows!" said Carpenter.
And between three and four hundred chattered on all sides with subdued but ceaseless animation; the præpostors keeping order more or less, but themselves chatting
