Part 23 (1/2)

That punishment's the best to hear That follows soonest on the sin, And guilt's a game where losers fare Better than those who seem to win.

_Cov. Patmore_.

AT the beginning of this quarter, Eric and Duncan had succeeded to one of the studies, and Owen shared with Montagu the one which adjoined it.

Latterly the small boys, in the universal spirit of disobedience, had frequented the studies a good deal, but it was generally understood that no study-boy might ask any one to be a regular visitor to his room without the leave of its other occupant.

So one evening Duncan said to Eric, ”Do you know little Wildney?”

”You mean that jolly fearless-looking little fellow, with the great black eyes, who came at the beginning of the quarter? No, I don't know him.”

”Well he's a very nice little fellow; a regular devil.”

”Humph!” said Eric, laughing, ”I shall bring out a new Duncan-dictionary, in which _Kerkokepovuchos_ equals 'very nice little fellow.'”

”Pooh!” said Duncan; ”you know well enough what I mean; I mean he's not one of your white-faced, lily-hearted new boys, but has lots of fun in him.”

”Well, what of him?”

”Have you any objection to my asking him to sit in the study when he likes?”

”Not the least in the world.”

”Very well, I'll go and fetch him now. But wouldn't you like to ask your brother Vernon to come in too, whenever he's inclined?”

”No,” said Eric, ”I don't care. He does come every now and then.”

Duncan went to fetch Wildney, and while he was gone, Eric was thinking _why_ he didn't give Vernon the free run of his study. He would not admit to himself the true reason, which was, that he had too much ground to fear that his example would do his brother no good.

Eric soon learned to like Wildney, who was a very bright, engaging, spirited boy, with a dash of pleasant impudence about him which took Eric's fancy. He had been one of the most mischievous of the lower fellows, but, although clever, did little or nothing in school, and was in the worst repute with the masters. Until he was ”taken up” by Eric, he had been a regular little hero among his compeers, because he was game for any kind of mischief, and, in the new tone of popular morality, his fearless disregard of rules made him the object of general admiration. From this time, however, he was much in the studies, and unhappily carried with him to those upper regions the temptation to worse and more injurious follies than had yet penetrated there.

It was an ill day for General Wildney when he sent his idolised little son to Roslyn; it was an ill day for Eric when Duncan first asked the child to frequent their study.

It was past nine at night, and the lower-school had gone to bed, but there was Wildney quietly sitting by the study are, while Duncan was doing some Arnold's verses for him to be shown up next day.

”Bother these verses,” said Duncan, ”I shall have a whiff. Do you mind, Eric?”

”No; not at all.”

”Give me a weed too,” said Wildney.

”What! young 'un--you don't mean to say you smoke?” asked Eric, in surprise.

”Don't I, though? let me show you. Why, a whole lot of us went and smoked two or three pipes by Riverbend only yesterday.”

”Phew!” said Eric; ”then I suppose I must smoke too to keep you in countenance,” and he took a cigar. It was the first time he had touched one since the day at the Stack. The remembrance made him gloomy and silent. ”Tempora mutantur,” thought he, ”nos et mutamur in illis.”

”Why, how glum you are,” said Wildney, patting him on the head.

”Oh no!” said Eric, shaking off unpleasant memories. ”Look,” he continued, pointing out of the window to change the subject, ”what a glorious night it is! Nothing but stars, stars, stars.”