Chapter 4: In the Greenwood.


While they were in sight of the other boys Martin's pride kept him
from displaying any emotion, but when they were alone in the
recesses of the woods, and Hubert, putting his hand on the other's
shoulder bade him "not mind them," his bosom commenced to heave,
and he had great difficulty in repressing his tears. It was not
mere grief, it was the sense of desolation; he felt that he was not
in his own sphere, and but for the thought of the chaplain would
willingly have returned to the outlaws in the greenwood. No boy at
a strange school feels as out of place as he, and the worst was, he
did not get acclimatised in the least.

He had not found his vocation. Then again, he had been sweetly
lectured upon his temper by Father Edmund, and had promised to
control it. Still, was he to be switched by Drogo? He knew he never
could bear it, and didn't quite feel that he ought to do so.

"Hubert," he said at last, "I don't think I can stay here."

"Why, it is a very pleasant place. I love it more every day, and
they are not such bad fellows."

"You are like them in your tastes, and I am not."

"But tell me, Martin, how were you brought up; were you always with