IT was a lovely morning, about eleven o’clock, and the boys of the cathedral choir of St. Bede’s were playing in the cloister of the grand old church. There was a square plot of grass in the centre, where the boys used to amuse themselves during the intervals of school-work; when it was wet they would walk round the covered cloister.

One boy, of about eleven years, was standing by himself, looking shyly on without taking any part in the games of the others. He was leaning against a stone pillar, when one of the bigger boys came up to him.

“You’re the new probationer solo-boy, aren’t you?” he demanded.“Yes,” replied Alfred Davidson, for that was his name.

“Where do you come from?”

“From Darlton.”

“What’s your father?”

“He’s an engineer on a ship.”

“On board of a man-of-war?”

“No; on one of the big ships that go to Australia,” replied Alfred.

“I suppose you think no small cheese of yourself now you’ve got a place in the choir, don’t you?” said the other with a sneer.

“I am very pleased to get into this choir, as I am fond of music, and I hope I shall be an organist some day,” replied Alfred.

“Organist!” laughed the other. “You’ll never be fit for anything except to blow the organ. I suppose you would consider that assistant-organist?”

“Certainly! some people aren’t good enough even for that,” replied Alfred, moving behind the stone pillar.

“Oh, indeed!” said King, “aren’t they?”

He aimed a backhanded slap at Alfred as he spoke, but the latter bobbed his head, and King barked his knuckles.

“That’s your little game, is it?” he exclaimed, and seizing Alfred he shook him and threw him on to the grass, nearly causing another boy, who was stepping backwards, to roll over him. Alfred got up at once and brushed his clothes, and while he was doing so another boy came up and spoke to him.

“What’s up?” he exclaimed.

“I am, now,” replied Alfred, smiling.

“So I see,” said Walter Parker, laughing; “but you were down a moment ago, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Has Herbert King been bullying you because you’ve got the place he wanted his brother to have?”

“I don’t know the name of the boy who pushed me down,” replied Alfred, “but he did not have it all his own way. He went to hit me, and as I ducked my head he knocked his knuckles against the pillar instead.”

“I am glad of it,” said Walter. “It serves him right; he is far too fond of bullying, especially new boys. If I catch him at it I will punch his head again, as I did last week. You tell me if he hits you, and I will square accounts with him. What is your name?”

“Alfred Davidson.”

“Very well, Davidson, I hope we shall be friends. My name is Walter Parker, and I live in Cross Street.”

“So do I,” said Alfred. “I am staying with Mrs. Dawson.”

“I live next door, so we can go home together.”

These few words made Alfred feel quite happy, and at the invitation of his new friend he joined in the game of prisoner’s base. Walter Parker was thirteen years of age, a stout, well-built boy, although not very tall.

Alfred Davidson, although so young, had a voice of wonderful power and sweetness, and having been taught music by his mother for some time, he had at eight entered the choir of the parish church of Darlton, where he had continued his training for some three years. He had just succeeded in obtaining not only a place in the choir by competition, to the exclusion of Herbert King’s younger brother, but even the appointment of a probationer soloist, which was very unusual for so young a boy.

The deputy choir-master, who was also the schoolmaster, called the boys in to work. The room was under the cathedral library, and led out of the cloister.

“Alfred Davidson!” called Mr. Harmer.“Davidson,” said Walter Parker to him, “‘uncle’ is calling you.”

“Is he your uncle?” inquired Alfred, as he moved out of his seat.

“No,” replied Walter; “but we always call him uncle behind his back.”

“Come here,” said Mr. Harmer; “I want to examine you, to see in which division I can place you.”

Alfred answered the questions put to him sufficiently well to be placed in the first division.

“I hope, Davidson, you will work well, so that I may be able to keep you in this division. If not, of course I shall put you down into the second. You can go back to your seat again.”

Walter Parker assisted Mr. Harmer by taking the youngest and the most backward boys. Herbert King was his equal as far as knowledge went, but the master had chosen Walter in preference to King, as he was more patient and careful in the work. These two boys were the principal soloists, but as King’s voice was beginning to show signs of breaking, it was necessary to have another boy in training, ready to take his place later on. King had hoped that his brother would obtain a place in the choir, but the organist, Dr. Phillips, and Mr. Young, the precentor (one of the clergy who assist in directing the musical services), had both chosen Alfred to fill the vacancy. This was one reason why King felt anything but friendly towards the newcomer.

As the boys were going home, one of them, Stephen Gray, filled a paper bag with water at the school tap, unseen by Alfred, who was slowly sauntering along.

“What are you going to do with that?” inquired Walter Parker.

“Wait and see,” replied Steve, running on and calling out to Alfred. “Davidson!”

“What do you want?” replied Alfred.

“Can you catch?”

“I think so.”

“Then catch this,” said Steve, throwing the bag as he spoke.

Alfred, being quite unused to the tricks of schoolboys—choir-boys are not a bit different from other boys—attempted to catch the bag, and the moment it reached his hands the water spurted all over his face and clothes. He was too much surprised to say anything, and Steve, who was a good-natured boy, after laughing at the success of his joke, wiped him with his handkerchief, and accompanied him and Walter, as he lived near them.

When Alfred had finished his tea he wrote home a long letter to his mother and sister, trying to make them feel quite happy about him. He hoped that in a few days he should like all the boys as much as he liked Walter and Stephen. Mrs. Dawson was very kind to him, and he went to bed feeling hopeful and happy.

The next morning, as he was walking up to the cathedral, the Rev. Mr. Young, the precentor, met him.

“You are the new boy, are you not?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” replied Alfred.

“How are you getting on, my boy?”

“Very well, sir, thank you.”

“I shall inquire from time to time of Mr. Harmer to see how you progress in your work, and if you do well in your Latin, later on I will teach you Greek, if you think you would care to learn it.”

“Thank you, sir; I should very much like to.”

“Your name is Davidson, is it not?”

“Yes, sir, Alfred Davidson.”

“Well, Davidson, stick to your work and be a good boy. My old college friend is vicar of Darlton, and knows your mother well, so I shall feel an extra interest in you, and he can tell your mother, when I write to him, how you get on with your work.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now run on and join your fellow-choristers. As you are early, you will have a quarter of an hour for play before work.”

Alfred raised his cap and ran away to catch his new friends, Walter and Stephen. They met Herbert King and three other boys, who joined them, and walked up to a large open space near the cathedral, where they played cricket and football. It was a very pretty place. There were several large trees, and close by ran the river, on which some of the boys used to row, as the father of one of the choristers owned boats, and let them out.

“Can you play football, Davidson?” asked King.

“No—that is, not much,” replied Alfred.

“He will be on our side,” exclaimed Walter. “He will soon learn.”

The game began. It was near the end of March, so they had not yet commenced cricket, as the weather had been too wet and cold. Alfred was put among the forwards, and being a very quick runner, succeeded in shooting a goal for his side.

“It was off-side,” exclaimed King angrily.

“No it wasn’t,” replied Walter.