expression. I found out afterwards that he was commonly called "the
clown," and was considered by boys who had been to the London theatres
to surpass the best professional comic actors when he chose to put
forth his powers. I did not know this then. I thought him a little
formal, but particularly courteous in his manner, and not wishing to
be behindhand in politeness, I replied, with as much of his style as I
could assume, "Certainly, sir. But that is because my father was an
Honourable. My father, sir, was the most honourable of men."

A slight spasm appeared to pass over Weston's face, and then he
continued the conversation in a sadder tone than the subject seemed to
require, but I supposed that this was due to his recalling that my
father was dead.

I confess that it did not need many leading inquiries to draw from me
such a narrative of my father's valour and high principle, as well as
the noble sentiments and conspicuous bravery which have marked our
family from Saxon times, as I was well accustomed to pour forth for
the edification of our nursemaids. I had not proceeded far, when my
new friend said, "Won't you walk in and take a seat?" It was
recreation time, and the other boys were all out in the playground. I
had no special friend as yet; Rupert had stuck to me all the first
day, and had now left me to find my own level. I had lingered near the
door as we came out, and there Weston had joined me. He now led me
back into the deserted school-room, and we sat down together on an old
black oak locker, at the bottom of the room.

How well I remember the scene! The dirty floor, the empty benches, the
torn books sprinkled upon the battered desks, the dusty sunshine
streaming in, the white-faced clock on the wall opposite, over which