with it in the table-cover. After a bit he looked up, stopped the pencil, and said, “Thank you very much, old fellow; there’s no other boy in the house would have done it for me but you or Arthur. I can see well enough,” he went on after a pause, “all the best big fellows look on me with suspicion; they think I’m a devil-may-care, reckless young scamp. So I am—eleven hours out of twelve, but not the twelfth. Then all of our contemporaries worth knowing follow suit, of course; we’re very good friends at games and all that, but not a soul of them but you and Arthur ever tried to break through the crust, and see whether there was anything at the bottom of me; and then the bad ones I won’t stand, and they know that.”

“Don’t you think that’s half fancy, Harry?”

“Not a bit of it,” said East bitterly, pegging away with his pencil. “I see it all plain enough. Bless you, you think everybody’s as straightforward and kind-hearted as you are.”

“Well, but what’s the reason of it? There must be a reason. You can play all the games as well as any one, and sing the best song, and are the best company in the house. You fancy you’re not liked, Harry. It’s all fancy.”

“I only wish it was, Tom. I know I could be popular enough with all the bad ones, but that I won’t have, and the good ones won’t have me.”

“Why not?” persisted Tom; “you don’t drink or swear, or get out at night; you never bully, or cheat at lessons. If you only showed you liked it, you’d have all the best fellows in the house running after you.”

East unburthening himself to Tom

“Not I,” said East. Then with an effort he went on, “I’ll tell you what it is. I never stop the Sacrament. I can see, from the Doctor downwards, how that tells against me.”

“Yes, I’ve seen that,” said Tom, “and I’ve been very sorry for it, and Arthur and I have talked about it. I’ve often thought of speaking to you, but it’s so hard to begin on such subjects. I’m very glad you’ve opened it. Now, why don’t you?”

“I’ve never been confirmed,” said East.

“Not been confirmed!” said Tom, in astonishment. “I never thought of that. Why weren’t you confirmed with the rest of us nearly three years ago? I always thought you’d been confirmed at home.”

“No,” answered East sorrowfully; “you see this was how it happened. Last Confirmation was soon after Arthur came, and you were so taken up with him, I hardly saw either of you. Well, when the Doctor sent round for us about it, I was living mostly with Green’s set—you know the sort. They all went in—I dare say it was all right, and they got good by it; I don’t want to judge them. Only all I could see of their reasons drove me just the other way. ’Twas ‘because the Doctor liked it;’ ‘no boy got on who didn’t stay the Sacrament;’ it was the ‘correct thing,’ in fact, like having a good hat to wear on Sundays. I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t feel that I wanted to lead a different life, I was very well content as I was, and I wasn’t going to sham religious to curry favour with the Doctor, or any one else.”

East stopped speaking, and pegged away more diligently than ever with his pencil. Tom was ready to cry. He felt half sorry at first that he had been confirmed himself. He seemed to have deserted his earliest friend, to have left him by himself at his worst need for those long years. He got up and went and sat by East and put his arm over his shoulder.

“Dear old boy,” he said, “how careless and selfish I’ve been. But why didn’t you come and talk to Arthur and me?”

“I wish to heaven I had,” said East, “but I was a fool. It’s too late talking of it now.”