“Worse than that.”

“You are suspended again.”

‘Worse than that.”

“Trix has run away with somebody,” cried Polly, with a gasp.

“Worse still.”

“Oh, Tom, you haven’t horsewhipped or shot anyone?”

“Came pretty near blowing my own brains out, but you see I didn’t.”

“I can’t guess; tell me, quick.”

“Well, I’m expelled.”

Tom paused on the rug as he gave the answer, and looked at Polly to see how she took it. To his surprise she seemed almost relieved, and after a minute’s silence, said, soberly,—

“That’s bad, very bad; but it might have been worse.”

“It is worse,” and Tom walked away again with a despairing sort of groan.

“Don’t knock the chairs about, but come and sit down, and tell me quietly.”

“Can’t do it.”

“Well go on, then. Are you truly expelled? Can’t it be made up? What did you do?”

“It’s a true bill this time. I just had a row with the Chapel watchman, and knocked him down. If it was a first offence, I might have got off; but you see I’ve had no end of narrow escapes, and this was my last chance; I’ve lost it, and now there’ll be the dickens to pay. I knew it was all up with me, so I didn’t wait to be turned out, but just took myself off.”

“What will your father say?”

“It will come hard on the governor, but the worst of it is—” there Tom stopped, and stood a minute in the middle of the room with his head down, as if he didn’t find it easy to tell even kind little Polly. Then out came the truth all in a breath, just as he used to bolt out his boyish misdemeanours, and then back up against the wall ready to take the consequences.

“I owe an awful lot of money that the governor don’t know about.”

“Oh Tom, how could you?”

“I’ve been an extravagant rascal, I know it, and I’m thundering sorry, but that don’t help a fellow. I’ve got to tell the dear old buffer, and there’s where it cuts.”

At another time Polly would have laughed at the contrast between Tom’s face and his language, but there was a sincere remorse, which made even the dreadful word “buffer” rather touching than otherwise.

“He will be very angry, I dare say; but he’ll help you, won’t he? He always does, Fan says.”

“That’s the worst of it, you see. He’s paid up so often, that the last time he said his patience couldn’t stand it nor his pocket either, and if I got into any more scrapes of that sort, I must get out as I could. I