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that he hates the sight of him; always did hate it; and when he was about two years old he gave him a kick, and it lamed him for life."

"Holy mother!" uttered Mrs. Livingstone, involuntarily, "is this true?"

The glowing colour was paling on the child's face, and he burst into an uncontrollable fit of weeping as he sank down upon the ground again and let his cheek rest against the wall.

"What is his name ?" inquired Mrs. Livingstone.

"William Grainger-they are Roman Catholics-the only Catholics we have in the school," continued Master Livingstone, turning up his nose contemptuously, and then turning it down again when he remembered to whom he was speaking.

"Has he brothers and sisters ?" continued Mrs. Livingstone.

"One brother, ma'am: there he is, at the gymnastics, that tall boy. He is fifteen."

"And how old is this one?"

"About thirteen, I think. Bill Grainger, how old are you?"

"He scarcely looks ten," said Mrs. Livingstone; "but his health may cause that. Who is he in mourning for?"

"His mother. She died lately."

"Don't sob so, my poor boy," said Mrs. Livingstone. "Dry your tears up, and go and play. Does he never play with you?" she added, turning to the other boys.

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'Oh, ah, we should like to catch him at that, " roared young Livingstone. "Why, he tried one day, and he was buffeted about and kicked like a football: he could not move quick enough. So he watches us now." "Is he clever at his studies ?"

"First-rate for that. There is not one in the school can compete with him. Why, he beats his brother hollow. He is in the first class, baby as he looks."

"Will you not try and play with your companions?" said Mrs. Livingstone to him, soothingly.

"Thank you, ma'am," he sobbed, suppressing the violence of his emotion; "I am better by myself, and it is sunny here. I am always cold."

Mrs. Livingstone turned to go in-doors, the group of young rebels ran shouting off to their playmates, and the neglected boy sat wearily on alone. He rose up presently, and limped away to his dreaded home. His father was a brutal, unfeeling man, who treated him with disgraceful harshness, though he was tolerably indulgent to his elder boy. William entered the house silently, dreading to meet his father, and creeping up to his chamber, he sat there until it was time to go to rest, his trembling hands pressed upon his temples pushing back his fair curls, and his aching heart breaking with the wish that he was as other boys are, in health and strength, and had a happy home as they had.

II.

THE winter half-year passed away, and the Midsummer-holidays came round again. When the boys re-assembled, they found but few altera-" tions had taken place with regard to their companions. Some fresh ones had come, and two or three had left. James Grainger, the elder of the

two brothers previously mentioned, had been removed to London, to a house of business, and William, the little lame lad, had come as boarder. The father of these boys, Mr. Grainger, had broken up his cottagehousehold, and had left for London with his eldest son. He was in no business, but a small income had enabled him to live without it. He stated to Mr. Livingstone that the loneliness of his home, now his wife was dead, induced him to take this step, and he left with him his address in town.

"You are aware," Mr. Livingstone had observed to him in the closing interview, "that when your son William enters my establishment as an inmate, he must conform to its religious observances: so far as joining the scholars in prayers night and morning, and accompanying them to church on Sundays. I cannot permit a boarder of mine to attend a Roman Catholic place of worship."

The man thought to himself that there could be little more harm in a pupil of Mr. Livingstone's attending a Catholic chapel than in his wife's attending one; but he answered, "that he cared nothing for religious forms himself, and did not see that they mattered for his boys; it was not form, he believed, that took people to Heaven. His boys had been reared to care little whether they went to church or chapel, or to neither; so William might go to church, and welcome, if the master liked."

"Profane sinner!" ejaculated Mr. Livingstone, inwardly. And he would have said it openly, had the party been taking away a pupil instead of placing one.

The schooolmaster's habits were methodical, and it was his custom to send in his accounts quarterly. When Michaelmas came round, amongst those forwarded was the one for William Grainger. It was sent to the given address in London, but some weeks passed, and no answer was returned. So Mr. Livingstone wrote a polite note of reminder, and in due time this came back to him from the Post-office, bearing the unsatisfactory words, "Gone away."

The master was at breakfast when this was delivered to him. Mrs. Livingstone, his two sons, and Mr. Smith, the head usher, were also at the table. He felt indignant, highly so. He did not exactly fear that he should lose his money; but that this trouble should be given him, and that Mr. Grainger should have presumed to change his address without giving him notice, aroused all his indignation.

"Mr. Smith," he said, "will you have the goodness to step to the school-room, and order Grainger hither."

Mr. Smith rose instantly. He was a thorough gentleman in mind and manners, though condemned to the ill-requited, hard life of an usher. It would have occurred to some people that Mr. Livingstone might have sent one of his boys on the errand; but no, his sons were part of himself, and Mr. Livingstone's pomposity reflected itself on them.

The lad came in at the door timidly, followed by the usher, who pushed him towards the breakfast-table. His features looked painfully wan and transparent, and a cough, which sounded hollow enough, shook occasionally his frame. Mr. Livingstone addressed him without preparation or preface:

"Pray where is your father?"

Sensitive as ever, the bright colour flashed across William Grainger's pale face as he answered that his father was in London.

"London is a large place," remarked the schoolmaster; "what part of it ?"

William replied, giving the address previously left with Mr. Living

stone.

"That is a false direction," asserted the schoolmaster. there. When did you last hear from him?"

"He is not

"I have not heard from him at all," faltered William, shocked at the master's words.

"The post brought you a letter some weeks ago," continued Mr. Livingstone.

"Yes, sir," replied William, "it was from my brother."

"And what was said in it of your father?"

"Not anything, sir; James did not once mention him.

It was a

short letter, chiefly telling me about his new mode of life, and the business he is learning."

"Have you the letter still? I suppose your brother's address is in it? Bring it to me."

William put his hand in the inner pocket of his jacket, and brought forth a well-worn letter. Poor lad! he was isolated from all who could be supposed to love him, and that solitary letter, the only one he had ever in his life received, was read over continually; night and morning, at play-hours, in the dusky twilight, the letter was drawn forth. He knew it by heart, but he read it still.

"Return to the school-room," said Mr. Livingstone, haughtily, gingerly taking the not very clean epistle between his thumb and finger; and poor William limped away, his hand to his side, and coughing violently. How he coughs," cried Mrs. Livingstone to the usher, in an undertone, not wishing to disturb her husband, who had retired to the window to peruse the said letter.

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"He wants care, madam," replied Mr. Smith, who was rapidly finishing his breakfast.

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"How, care!" inquired Mrs. Livingstone.

"He is not the boy to be out at school," returned the "He requires comforts, and nourishment, and

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young man. "Do you mean to say, sir," interrupted Mrs. Livingstone, "that the young gentlemen are not nourished here ?"

"Dear madam, do not mistake me," returned the usher. "I know that the lads here have everything they want. But Grainger requires a different sort of nourishment; what no boarding-school in England would furnish."

"What we should call 'coddling?" returned Mrs. Livingstone, coldly.

"It

"What some people might call coddling," assented the usher. is a pity his mother died; for if ever a boy wanted a mother's kindness and care, he does."

"What disease do you consider he has, besides the cough?" "Nothing else," replied the young man; "and that is only the effects of a recent cold. I think if the boy had a happy home, and were well taken care of in it, he would soon grow strong and hearty. But with

his delicate frame and sensitive mind, disease is almost sure to attack him, unless he can be guarded from it by watchful tenderness."

Mr. Smith left the breakfast-room, wondering if Mrs. Livingstone would take the hint, and bestow upon the forlorn boy a tithe of the care that would be lavished upon the young Livingstones if they were ill.

The schoolmaster wrote to James Grainger, demanding the address of his father. The reply was to the effect that Mr. Grainger had left London some weeks since, the boy believed, upon a journey; he did not know for what part, but supposed he would be returning soon.

"It wears a strange appearance!" exclaimed Mr. Livingstone to his wife, "wonderfully, as if I should never get paid. The bill will not be far short of twenty pounds by Christmas."

"Twenty pounds!" reiterated Mrs. Livingstone, holding up her hands; "and to run the risk of losing it!"

Mrs. Livingstone's words were cut short by the entrance of a servant, who said that a person had called to solicit charity.

"How dare you bring such messages here?" demanded the schoolmaster, his brow reddening. "No one begs but idle, good-for-nothing people."

The servant explained, observing that she had told the applicant it was nearly as much as her place was worth to take in the application. It was Martha Davis, she said, the widow of their late gardener. She wanted but the loan of a trifle; it would prevent her goods being seized, and keep a house over her head, and she would punctually pay it back again within a given time.

"She wishes to be allowed to speak to you herself, sir," concluded the maid.

"I have all my life made it a rule," said the schoolmaster, sternly and pompously, "to give nothing in private charity, and I never will do so; it encourages the poor in indolence. Tell Martha Davis that next boardday-it will be on Friday-she may apply at the house, and I can no doubt get her admitted. While there is so blessed an asylum provided for the poor, they need not trouble us about distress."

"What could have induced that Mrs. Davis to apply here ?” wondered Mrs. Livingstone, as the maid withdrew.

"My high character," replied the pedagogue, consequentially. "Between one thing or other, Mrs. Livingstone, I am quite at the top of the tree."

"They were saying the other night at the missionary meeting that you would most likely have a piece of plate publicly prezented to youyour general character for sanctity, and all that, is estimated so highly," rejoined Mrs. Livingstone.

"Ahem!" said the schoolmaster, drawing his back in, and complacently settling the folds of his white cravat. "By the way, Mrs. Livingstone, have you bargained for the making of my new shirts ?"

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Ah, a deal of trouble I have had about them," returned the lady. "They wanted half-a-crown a shirt."

"Half-a-crown a shirt, madam!" uttered the startled pedagogue. "I limited you to a shilling."

"No one will undertake them at that price."

"Why, they are made in London for threepence and fourpence per shirt!"

"For the common coloured ones, I fancy, Mr. Livingstone; not for such as yours, which are of the finest quality, and require the best work." "To give more than a shilling will be a dead robbery, madam," he growled, "and I will never countenance such extortion. What is that?" continued the schoolmaster, abruptly breaking off his sentence, and looking towards the door,

His wife advanced, and opened it. She stood for a moment silently contemplating something outside, and then uttered an exclamation of surprise.

What in the world brings you here? Mr. Livingstone, it is Grainger!"

"What?" said the master, sternly casting his eyes upon the pale, afflicted boy, who stood there trembling.

"I beg your pardon, sir," he uttered, "it was not my fault for intruding here; Mr. Smith sent me."

"Sent you here?”

"I am very ill, sir," continued William, bursting into tears. "I fell down just now in the school-room; I was giddy and sick, and my head burnt, and, when I got better, Mr. Smith said I must come to you. He said, perhaps you would like me to see a doctor, lest it should be a fever or any infectious illness coming on that the school might catch." "Have you the money in your pocket to fee a doctor?" sneered Mr. Livingstone, "or do you think I shall add that to the bill? Do you know that you are a burden upon my charity now, and have been ever since Midsummer?"

They were cruel words, doubly cruel to one of his sensitive temperament, and he drew away, and felt as if his heart were breaking.

"Is anything to be done about Grainger?" inquired Mrs. Livingstone, after a pause. 66 I really think we should not be justified in going to the expense of a medical man for him?"

"Come, Mrs. Livingstone, don't talk such nonsense," was the schoolmaster's reply. "When boys, such as he, get ill, they must get well again."

The child crept to his bed, sent by Mr. Smith, and lay there many days. But there was no tender mother to soothe his pains, no attentive nurse to wait upon him. It seemed but an illustration of the words of Mr. Livingstone-when boys got ill, they must get well again. Mrs. Livingstone paid him two hurried visits during the time, and ordered the servants to make him some barley-water, and she sent him up a dose or two of the school medicine-a delectable mixture of salts and senna. But whether the servants did make the barley-water she never inquired, and never knew. After a time he resumed his place in the school; but his illness had left upon him so great a degree of debility that it was a most improper place for him. Cough, cough, cough! it was never ending. There he would stand, pressing his thin hands upon his side, his white face becoming almost purple with the exertion, while his more fortunate schoolmates would rail and swear at him, and not unfrequently kick him, telling him to go further off, and not disturb them. He would then

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