Guy Fenwick, accompanied by his friend and fellow passenger, August Locke, started from London early in the morning, bound for Milton.

Reaching the station, Locke proposed to Guy to walk to the school.

“It is only half a mile,” he said, “and it will be a pleasure to me to take a leisurely stroll over the road that was once so familiar to me.”

“I am quite willing,” said Guy. “It is a charming morning, and the country is beautiful.”

“More so than America?”

“I must confess,” said Guy, “that I know of no landscape in America that equals the charm of an English village.”

It was a bright, sunshiny day. The hedge-rows were a dark green. They passed a church overgrown with ivy, and the air was perfumed by sweet flowers.

“How often I have been over this road,” said August Locke.

“Did you enjoy your schooldays, Mr. Locke?”

“I should have done so if we had had a better teacher. Dr. Musgrave’s tyranny spoiled all.”

“Did he abuse you?”

“As much as he dared; but when he went too far my temper got the better of me, and I was ready for anything. I think he knew that, for he did not treat me as badly as some of his pupils who were more timid. How are your American schools?”

“No doubt we have some tyrannical teachers, but the one whose school I attended was a gentleman. He was firm and yet gentle, and all we boys respected and liked him.”

“With such a teacher as you describe Milton School would be a paradise.”

“I don’t see how Dr. Musgrave can retain his position. Does he own the school?”

“No; he is employed by the directors. Most of them live at a distance, and know nothing of his administration. If complaints were made to them they would pay no attention to them. They would take the ground that there is a natural antagonism between pupils and teachers.”

“So the poor boys have little hope of having their wrongs redressed?”

“You are about right.”

The distance between the station and the school was so short that by the time their conversation was over they had nearly reached the gate that led into the school-ground.

“It looks just as it did when I left,” said August Locke, surveying the building and campus with interest. “I can almost imagine that it was only yesterday I went away.”

“Except when you look in the glass.”

“Yes; I have grown from a boy into a man of twenty-five. I should be more than a match for old Musgrave now,” and the young man regarded with satisfaction his muscular arms and well-knit figure.

“Really,” he added, “I shouldn’t mind if there were occasion, having a tussle with the old fellow. I fancy he wouldn’t stand long before his old pupil.”

There were several boys scattered about the campus.

August Locke and Guy entered, and looked about them for someone whom they could interrogate.

The nearest was a stout, well-knit boy, with a strong, resolute face, and a frank expression. In fact, it was Jim Rawdon, already introduced as the friend and adviser of Vivian Bell.

“My boy,” said Locke, with pleasant courtesy, “can you tell me if Dr. Musgrave is in his office?”

“No, sir; not this morning.”

“Isn’t that rather strange—at this hour? You see, I am an old pupil, and haven’t forgotten the ways of the place.”

“He is usually here, sir; but he made an early start to hunt up a pupil who ran away a day or two since.”

“What is the name of the pupil?” asked Guy, quickly.

“Vivian Bell.”

“I thought so,” said Guy.

“Are you a friend of Bell?” asked Rawdon.

“Yes; I am more than a friend, though I never saw him. I am sent here by his guardian.”

“But I thought his guardian lived in Bombay?”

“So he does; but I come from Bombay.”

“I am glad of it,” said Rawdon.

“Are you a friend of Vivian?” asked Guy.

“Yes; I am about the only friend the poor boy has in this place.”

“Do you mean that he is generally unpopular?”

“No; we all like him; but I am the only one who dares stand up for him.”

“His guardian received a letter complaining that he was ill treated by the head master.”

“That is true enough. He has been very badly treated.”

“Why? Isn’t he a good boy?”

“Yes. The trouble is that he is too good and gentle. Dr. Musgrave felt that it would be safe to bully him, and he has done so.”

“You are not giving Dr. Musgrave a very good character.”

“He doesn’t deserve one.”

“In what way has Vivian been ill treated?”

“He has been flogged two or three times a week on an average.”

“Without deserving it?”

“Yes.”

“What excuse can the doctor have for flogging him?”

“Well, to begin with, Simon is down upon him.”

“Who is Simon?”

“Simon Musgrave, the doctor’s son. He’s as bad as his father, and I don’t know but worse.”

“Have you had anything to complain of?”

“No. He doesn’t dare to meddle with me. I thrashed him once so effectually that he thinks it wisest to let me alone.”

“Coming back to Vivian, you say that Dr. Musgrave has gone in search of him?”

“Yes; he started early, accompanied by Simon.”

“Then I suppose he had information as to his whereabouts?”

“Yes. He heard that he was at Giles Glover’s farm, about four miles away.”

“Will he probably find him there?”

“I am afraid so. It was I who advised him to run away, and I told him to go to Giles Glover’s.”

“Perhaps he may have left there.”

“No. He was to wait till I got a chance to go and see him. I haven’t had any chance yet. Bell is a timid boy, and he wouldn’t know where to go. I meant to start him to London to see his guardian’s bankers.”

“Let me shake hands with you,” said Guy, impulsively. “I am proud to know you. You have had the courage to be a friend to a boy who was badly abused. What is your name?”

“Jim Rawdon.”

“Mine is Guy Fenwick. I am an American boy.”

“And yet you are sent here by Bell’s guardian,” said Rawdon, in surprise.

“Yes. It is too long a story to explain now.”

“I like you, even if you are not English,” said Rawdon. “Do what you can for Bell.”

“That is what I have come here for. What will happen if Dr. Musgrave captures him?”

“He will flog Bell before the whole school, worse than he ever did before.”

“You may rest assured that he won’t do that,” said August Locke. “I think I shall have something to say.”

Jim Rawdon’s face glowed with pleasure.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Oh, won’t there be a high old time!”

“I fancy there will. I was once a pupil of Dr. Musgrave, and I owe him a few returns for past favors. Does he often flog you?”

“He never has yet,” said Rawdon. “He knows that my father would take me away instantly if he tried it. Besides—I don’t mind telling you two—he owes my father borrowed money, and that makes him cautious.”

“I am glad that you, at any rate, are safe. So Simon is no improvement on his father?”

“No. If you were here as a pupil, how is it you don’t remember Simon?”

“He was only a small boy then, perhaps six years old, and I was not likely to know anything of him.”

“Shall you stay here till the doctor returns?”

“Yes. It will be our best course. You don’t think the doctor will attempt to punish Bell before he gets him back?”

“No. That isn’t his way. He will call the school together, and give him a cruel flogging before all the boys. I have often seen such punishment, and it makes my blood boil; but what could I do?”

Five minutes later Rawdon called out in excitement:

“There comes the doctor! Simon and Bell are with him!”

August Locke and Guy looked up the road. A wagon was approaching, drawn by a bony-looking horse.

Simon was driving. On the back seat was Dr. Musgrave, tall, thin, with a stern-looking visage, and beside him Vivian Bell, his face red and tearful.

He well knew what a terrible punishment awaited him.