Milton School was situated in a delightful part of the country. It was broad on the ground, and built of stone, the sides being overgrown with the clinging ivy so abundant in England.

It ought to have been a paradise. Casual visitors always admired it, and declared that the boys who attended it were especially favored.

But they did not know the character of Dr. Peter Musgrave, who had for fifteen years exercised tyrannical sway over the pupils committed to his charge.

He was in the habit of forming sudden prejudices against his pupils, and when he was “down on a boy,” as the saying is, no amount of good behavior softened him. Vivian Bell had been unfortunate enough to incur this man’s enmity, and his life had been a hard one ever since he had entered the school.

Two days before the date of the telegram mentioned at the close of the last chapter, Simon Musgrave, the doctor’s son, ordered Vivian to go on an errand to Milton village.

“I have a bad headache, Simon,” said Vivian. “I don’t feel as if I could sit up.”

“I don’t believe a word of it,” returned the young tyrant. “You’re lazy, that’s all.”

“But indeed my head aches badly, Simon.”

“Don’t call me Simon.”

“Isn’t that your name?” asked Vivian, wonderingly.

“My name to you is Mr. Musgrave. Just remember that, will you?”

“Yes, Simon—I mean Mr. Musgrave.”

“Take that!” said Simon, aiming a blow at Vivian that nearly felled him to the ground. “Perhaps you’ll remember next time.”

“You have no right to strike me!” said Vivian, plucking up courage.

He did not dare to retaliate, for he was weak compared with the young tyrant.

“Haven’t I? Then I’ll do it again!”

Which threat he promptly translated into action.

“Now you know me. Don’t you ever dare to tell me again that I haven’t a right to wallop you! Start for the village at once, or you’ll get another!”

But there was an unexpected champion in the person of one of the older boys, who had come up while Simon was gratifying his brutal instincts.

“I say, Musgrave, what are you doing to Bell?”

“None of your business!”

“Isn’t it, though? You have made him cry.”

“Oh, he’s a cry-baby, anyway,” said Simon, scornfully.

“What has he been doing to you, Vivian?” asked the other boy, kindly.

“He hit me twice!”

“What did you do that for?”

“I told you before it was none of your business,” returned Simon Musgrave, sullenly. “If you’re not careful, I’ll serve you the same way!”

“You will, eh? I should like to see you do it!” replied Jim Rawdon, not in the least terrified by Musgrave’s threats, even if he were the son of the head master.

Simon Musgrave scowled at the intrepid boy, but he knew very well that it would not do to treat him as he had Vivian Bell. Simon was a born bully, and bullies are generally cowards.

He took advantage of Vivian Bell’s gentleness, but he held in unwilling respect James Rawdon’s strength and pluck.

“I’ll report your insolence to my father,” he said, biting his nether lip.

“Do,” retorted Rawdon. “Go and complain to your pa like an overgrown baby!”

Simon was in such a passion that he ached to strike Rawdon, but prudence got the better of temper, and he refrained.

Turning to Vivian, he said: “You heard what I told you to do. Go and do it!”

“What did you tell him to do?” asked Rawdon.

“I told him to go to the village on an errand for me.”

“Why don’t you go yourself?”

“Because I don’t choose to.”

“I would go if I hadn’t a headache,” interposed Vivian, putting his hand to his head and sighing. “It’s very bad.”

“It’s all put on,” said Simon, brutally. “Your head doesn’t ache any more than mine does.”

“Indeed, indeed it does!”

James Rawdon listened to Simon with a disgust for his brutality which he did not attempt to conceal.

“Don’t you go, Bell,” he said. “I’ll stand by you.”

“Look here, Rawdon, don’t put in your oar! You’ll get into trouble!”

“Who’s going to get me into trouble?”

“I am.”

“Come on, then!” and Jim Rawdon put himself in an attitude of defence.

“Oh, I sha’n’t touch you! I’d scorn to fight you; but I’ll report you and Bell to my father.”

“I’ve been reported to your father before now,” said Rawdon, significantly.

It was quite true that Jim Rawdon had little to fear from Dr. Musgrave. He was a resolute and determined boy, who would not permit anyone to impose upon him.

His father was a wealthy merchant in London, and it so happened that Dr. Musgrave was under a pecuniary obligation to the senior Rawdon to the extent of five hundred pounds. These two considerations made Jim a privileged character.

Simon, however, knew nothing of the pecuniary relations between his father and Mr. Rawdon, and was now thoroughly incensed, especially when Rawdon, taking Vivian Bell under his protection, walked off with him.

“I’ll go and complain to my father!” exclaimed Simon, wrathfully.

“Go along! Come with me, Vivian!”

Vivian, influenced by the older and stronger boy, obeyed him.

“Now, Vivian,” said Rawdon, “tell me why you let that brute impose upon you?”

“Because I can’t help it, Rawdon.”

“That’s something I wouldn’t say.”

“You don’t need to. You are strong—oh, so strong!” returned Vivian, admiringly.

“I am not as strong as Dr. Musgrave, but he never touches me.”

“He has flogged me often.”

“The old brute! And yet you are always gentle and inoffensive.”

“I try to be good and obey the rules, but the doctor is always finding fault with me.”

“That’s his way.”

“I can’t seem to please him.”

“Then why don’t you give it up?”

“I don’t understand you, Rawdon.”

“Then I’ll tell you, Vivian. If I were treated as you are I’d leave the school.”

“But how can I?”

“Who put you here?”

“My guardian.”

“Then why don’t you ask him to take you away?”

“I’ll tell you something, Rawdon, if you won’t tell.”

“Of course I won’t tell! What do you take me for?”

“I wrote to my guardian four months ago, telling him how I was treated here.”

“Four months ago! And haven’t you had any answer?”

“No. You see, he lives in Bombay.”

Jim Rawdon whistled.

“Bombay! That’s a terrible distance off!”

“Yes. It takes a long time for a letter to reach there. That’s the reason I haven’t yet heard from him?”

“Did you ask him to take you away?”

“Yes; and I do hope he will.”

“Very likely he won’t. If he lives so far off, very likely he won’t take any trouble in the matter.”

“Oh, I hope he will!”

“If I were you I would take the matter into my own hands. I’d run away!”

Vivian Bell almost gasped at the daring suggestion.

“But what could I do if I did run away? I haven’t any money; that is, I have only half a crown.”

“I’ve got two half-sovereigns, and you may have one of them.”

“You’re awfully kind, Rawdon. Would you really advise me to run away?”

“Yes, I would.”

“Where shall I go first?”

“There’s a farmer four miles away on the Bolton Road. His name is Giles Glover. Go there and ask him to keep you for a couple of days. You can pay him, you know. Tell him I sent you. He’s a friend of mine.”

“But after the two days?”

“I’ll call over and have a talk with you. I can ride with the carrier, so it won’t be any trouble. Then I’ll arrange something for you. Perhaps I may send you to London with a letter to my father.”

“But if the doctor catches me?” asked Vivian, with a shiver.

“The doctor won’t catch you. I’ll put him off the scent.”

“I don’t know, Rawdon. It seems a very bold thing to do.”

The conversation was interrupted here, for Simon Musgrave came up with a triumphant smile on his face.

“Rawdon and Bell are wanted,” he said. “You are to report at once to my father at his office.”