The last new boy was a little fellow only eleven years old. His name was Tommy Cooper, as he was called at home. It was his first absence from the sheltering care of his mother, and he felt lonesome in the great, dreary school building, where he was called “Cooper,” and “you little chap.” He missed the atmosphere of home, and the tenderness of his mother and sister. In fact, the poor boy was suffering from that most distressing malady, homesickness.

Had Mrs. Socrates Smith been a kind, motherly woman, she might have done much to reconcile the boy to his new home; but she was a tall, gaunt, bony woman, more masculine than feminine, not unlike Miss Sally Brass, whom all readers of Dickens will remember.

I am sorry to say that a homesick boy in a boarding school does not meet with much sympathy. Even those boys who have once experienced the same malady are half ashamed of it, and, if they remember it at all, remember it as a mark of weakness. There was but one boy who made friendly approaches to Tommy, and this was Hector Roscoe.

Hector had seen the little fellow sitting by himself with a sad face, and he had gone up to him, and asked him in a pleasant tone some questions about himself and his home.

“So you have never been away from home before, Tommy,” he said.

“No, sir,” answered the boy, timidly.

“Don’t call me sir. I am only a boy like you. Call me Hector.”

“That is a strange name. I never heard it before.”

“No, it is not a common name. I suppose you don’t like school very much?”

“I never shall be happy here,” sighed Tommy.

“You think so now, but you will get used to it.”

“I don’t think I shall.”

“Oh, yes, you will. It will never seem like home, of course, but you will get acquainted with some of the boys, and will join in their games, and then time will pass more pleasantly.”

“I think the boys are very rough,” said the little boy.

“Yes, they are rough, but they don’t mean unkindly. Some of them were homesick when they came here, just like you.”

“Were you homesick?” asked Tommy, looking up, with interest.

“I didn’t like the school very well; but I was much older than you when I came here, and, besides, I didn’t leave behind me so pleasant a home. I am not so rich as you, Tommy. I have no father nor mother,” and for the moment Hector, too, looked sad.

The little fellow became more cheerful under the influence of Hector’s kind and sympathetic words. Our hero, however, was catechised about his sudden intimacy with the new scholar.

“I see you’ve got a new situation, Roscoe,” said Bates, when Hector was walking away.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve secured the position of nurse to that little cry baby.”

“You mean Tommy Cooper?”

“Yes, if that’s his name.”

“I was cheering up the little fellow a bit. He’s made rather a bad exchange in leaving a happy home for Smith Institute.”

“That’s so. This is a dreary hole, but there’s no need of crying about it.”

“You might if you were as young as Tommy, and had just come.”

“Shall you take him under your wing?”

“Yes, if he needs it.”

We now come to the few minutes preceding the return of Hector from his walk, as indicated in the last chapter.

Tommy Cooper was sitting in the school yard, with a disconsolate look, when Jim Smith, who was never happier than when he was bullying other boys, espied him.

“What’s the matter with you, young one?” he said, roughly, “Is your grandmother dead?”

“No,” answered Tommy, briefly.

“Come here and play.”

“I would rather not.”

“I am not going to have you sulking round here. Do you hear me?”

“Are you one of the teachers?” asked Tommy, innocently.

“You’ll find out who I am,” answered Jim, roughly. “Here, Palmer, do you want a little fun with this young one?”

Palmer and Bates were Jim Smith’s most devoted adherents.

“What are you going to do, Jim?” questioned Palmer.

“I’m going to stir him up a little,” said Jim, with a malicious smile. “Go and get a blanket.”

“All right!” said Palmer.

“We’ll toss him in a blanket. He won’t look so sulky after we get through with him.”

There were two or three other boys standing by, who heard these words.

“It’s a shame!” said one, in a low voice. “See the poor little chap, how sad he looks! I felt just as he does when I first came to school.”

“Jim ought not to do it,” said the second. “It’s a mean thing to do.”

“Tell him so.”

“No, thank you. He’d treat me the same way.”

The two speakers were among the smaller boys, neither being over fourteen, and though they sympathized with Tommy, their sympathy was not likely to do him any good.

Out came Palmer with the blanket.

“Are there any teachers about?” asked Jim.

“No.”

“That’s good. We shan’t be interfered with. Here, young one, come here.”

“What for?” asked Tommy, looking frightened.

“Come here, and you’ll find out.”

But Tommy had already guessed. He had read a story of English school life, in which a boy had been tossed in a blanket, and he was not slow in comprehending the situation.

“Oh, don’t toss me in a blanket!” said the poor boy, clasping his hands.

“Sorry to disturb you, but it’s got to be done, young one,” said Jim. “Here, jump in. It’ll do you good.”

“Oh, don’t!” sobbed the poor boy. “It’ll hurt me.”

“No, it won’t! Don’t be a cry baby. We’ll make a man of you.”

But Tommy was not persuaded. He jumped up, and tried to make his escape. But, of course, there was no chance for him. Jim Smith overtook him in a couple of strides, and seizing him roughly by the collar, dragged him to the blanket, which by this time Palmer and one of the other boys, who had been impressed into the service reluctantly, were holding.

Jim Smith, taking up Tommy bodily, threw him into the blanket, and then seizing one end, gave it a violent toss. Up went the boy into the air, and tumbling back again into the blanket was raised again.

“Raise him, boys!” shouted Jim. “Give him a hoist!”

Then it was that Tommy screamed, and Hector heard his cry for help.

He came rushing round the corner of the building, and comprehended, at a glance, what was going on.

Naturally his hot indignation was much stirred.

“For shame, you brutes!” he cried. “Stop that!”

If there was anyone whom Jim Smith did not want to see at this moment, it was Hector Roscoe. He would much rather have seen one of the ushers. He saw that he was in a scrape, but his pride would not allow him to back out.

“Keep on, boys!” he cried. “It’s none of Roscoe’s business. He’d better clear out, or we’ll toss him.”

As he spoke he gave another toss.

“Save me, Hector!” cried Tommy, espying his friend’s arrival with joy.

Hector was not the boy to let such an appeal go unheeded. He sprang forward, dealt Jim Smith a powerful blow, that made him stagger, and let go the blanket, and then helped Tommy to his feet.

“Run into the house. Tommy!” he said. “There may be some rough work here.”

He faced round just in time to fend off partially a blow from the angry bully.

“Take that for your impudence!” shouted Jim Smith. “I’ll teach you to meddle with, me.”

But Jim reckoned without his host. The blow was returned with interest, and, in the heat of his indignation, Hector followed it up with such a volley that the bully retreated in discomfiture, and was glad to withdraw from the contest.

“I’ll pay you for this, you scoundrel!” he said, venomously.

“Whenever you please, you big brute!” returned Hector, contemptuously. “It is just like you to tease small boys. If you annoy Tommy Cooper again, you’ll hear from me.”

“I’d like to choke that fellow!” muttered Jim. “Either he or I will have to leave this school.”