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"What's your name?"

"Diggory Trevanock."

The whole class exploded.

"Now, then," said Mr. Blake, looking up from his mark-book with a broad
grin on his own face--"now, then, there's nothing to laugh at.--Look
here," he added, turning to the new boy, "how d'you spell it?"

Instead of being at all annoyed or disconcerted at the mirth of his
cl... More

"What's your name?"

"Diggory Trevanock."

The whole class exploded.

"Now, then," said Mr. Blake, looking up from his mark-book with a broad
grin on his own face--"now, then, there's nothing to laugh at.--Look
here," he added, turning to the new boy, "how d'you spell it?"

Instead of being at all annoyed or disconcerted at the mirth of his
class-mates, the youngster seemed rather to enjoy the joke, and
immediately rattled out a semi-humorous reply to the master's
question,--

"D I G, dig; G O R Y, gory--Diggory: T R E, tre; VAN, van; O C K,
ock--Trevanock." Then turning round, he smiled complacently at the
occupants of the desks behind, as much as to say: "There, I've done
all I can to amuse you, and I hope you're satisfied."

This incident, one of the little pleasantries occasionally permitted by
a class master, and which, like a judge's jokes in court, are always
welcomed as a momentary relief from the depressing monotony of the
serious business in hand--this little incident, I say, happened in the
second class of a small preparatory school, situated on the outskirts of
the market town of Chatford, and intended, according to the wording of a
standing advertisement in the _Denfordshire Chronicle_, "for the sons of
gentlemen."

This establishment, which bore the somewhat suggestive name of "The
Birches," was owned and presided over by Mr. Welsby, who, with an
unmarried daughter, Miss Eleanor, acting as housekeeper, and his
nephew, Mr. Blake, performing the duties of assistant-master, undertook
the preliminary education of about a dozen juveniles whose ages ranged
between ten and fourteen.

On the previous evening, returning from the Christmas holidays, exactly
twelve had mustered round the big table in the dining-room; no new
faces had appeared, and Fred Acton, a big, strong youngster of fourteen
and a half, was undisputed cock of the walk.

The school was divided into two classes. The first, containing the five
elder scholars, went to sit at the feet of Mr. Welsby himself; while the
second remained behind in what was known as the schoolroom, and received
instruction from Mr. Blake.

It was while thus occupied on the first morning of the term that the
lower division were surprised by the sudden appearance of a new boy.
Miss Eleanor brought him into the room, and after a few moments'
whispered conversation with her cousin, smiled round the class and then
withdrew. Every one worshipped Miss Eleanor; but that's neither here
nor there. A moment later Mr. Blake put the question which stands
at the commencement of this chapter.

The new-comer's answer made a favourable impression on the minds of his
companions, and as soon as the morning's work was over, they set about
the task of mutual introduction in a far more friendly manner than was
customary on these occasions. He was a wiry little chap, with bright
eyes, for ever on the twinkle, and black hair pasted down upon his head,
so as not to show the slightest vestige of curl, while the sharp,
mischievous look on his face, and the quick, comical movements of his
body, suggested something between a terrier and a monkey.

There was never very much going on in the way of regular sports or
pastimes at The Birches; the smallness of numbers made it difficult to
attempt proper games of cricket or football, and the boys were forced to
content themselves with such substitutes as prisoner's base, cross tag,
etc., or in carrying out the projects of Fred Acton, who was constantly
making suggestions for the employment of their time, and compelling
everybody to conform to his wishes.

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