From this time every effort was made to make Paul's life at Garside unendurable. The dead set against him extended from the Fifth Form downwards. The views which Newall had expressed with so much force on the night he had been feathered reigned supreme throughout the school. It was felt that Paul had no place there, and that as he would not go of his own free will, it was the bounden duty of all of them to follow Newall's advice, and drive him from it. So the war against him was carried on—not so much openly as secretly—by every petty means that could be devised.

Stanley, to his credit, took no part in this secret warfare against Paul. He had still some affection for him; but though he took no part in it, he made no effort to check it. The fact was that he was getting more and more under the thumb of Newall and Parfitt every day.

Even Hibbert seemed to have deserted him. At any rate, Paul saw but little of him at this time, and when he did see him, the boy only greeted him with a wan, frightened smile, as though he were afraid to speak.

Waterman was about the only one who showed no change of manner towards him. He was still quite friendly in his lazy fashion. It was he who had first given the hint to Paul of the movement on foot against him.

"I may as well put you on your guard, Percival," he said, on the day following Newall's declaration against Paul. "You've put up the backs of all the Form, and a lot of fellows outside it. They're going for you. They mean driving you from Garside."

"I thought something was on foot. Thanks for telling me."

"Oh, you'd have soon found out, you know, without my telling you. But you needn't give me away. I only just mention it so that you may know what's in the wind. Don't worry. It's not worth it."

With this characteristic piece of advice Waterman left him.

"Trying to drive me from the school," Paul repeated to himself. "Well, they may try, and beat me in the long run, but they won't find it easy. 'Be ye stedfast, unmovable.' By God's help I'll try to be true to the school motto."

Having come to that determination, Paul set his teeth hard, and put his back to the wall. And so, though scarcely a day passed without bringing some fresh insult or tyranny, he still held firm to the position he had taken up—to the resolve he had made with himself and his God. It must be admitted, however, that the cup was sometimes very near to overflowing.

His lot might have been easier to bear had he received some answer to the letter he had written to Mr. Moncrief; but as day followed day without any response, it seemed to him that Mr. Moncrief disdained writing to him, or did not think his letter worth answering. He came to the conclusion that Stanley must have written to his uncle, telling him what had happened at the sand-pit, and the feeling against Paul at the school, and so had poisoned his mind against him.

Once or twice Paul thought of writing to the one friend who never failed him—his mother—and unburdening his breast to her; but the thought only came to him to be dismissed. It would only make her miserable. She had suffered enough in the past without being worried with his petty troubles at school. So he determined to stand alone—to fight out the battle by himself.

Things were at this pass when an event happened which caused some stir at Garside.

About a mile from the school ran the river. Its course lay in picturesque variety through peaceful pastoral country, cornfields, and orchards. One part of it was spanned by an old wooden bridge. This bridge had become so dilapidated by time and wear that the county justices had decided that it was dangerous for traffic. So to prevent the possibility of an accident, it was decided to pull it down, and replace it with a new one.

Accordingly, the bridge was pulled down, and a new one begun. To aid in this task, a raft was used by the workmen in crossing the river.

Now Plunger and his companions in the Third Form were deeply interested in the work that was going on at the river, but what interested Plunger most of all was the raft. It seemed to him that he would like to live upon that raft. What could be more delightful than gliding up and down the stream on it for ever. Then he thought of the many adventures that had happened on rafts—of the many shipwrecked passengers that had been saved on them.

"Wish I had one of my own," he remarked to Harry, as the two stood watching the men crossing the stream one half-holiday. "Wouldn't it be jolly fun?"

"Very," answered Harry, who, fired by Plunger's enthusiasm, began to share his longing.

It should be mentioned that Plunger's attitude towards Harry had changed since the night when Newall had been feathered in mistake for Baldry.

To use the phrase of the Third—"Moncrief minor had scored," and Plunger never respected anybody till they had succeeded in scoring over him—in other words, beaten him at his own game. Since then he had begun to tolerate Harry, and receive him on something like a footing of equality.

"Those fellows," went on Plunger, nodding his head in the direction of the workmen on the raft, "are so beastly selfish."

"How, Freddy?"

"Well, I tried to get on that raft when it was lying idle the other day; but they commenced shouting at me like mad. I wasn't doing any harm."

"Of course not."

"If they'd been using it, it'd have been a different thing; but they weren't. So why couldn't they have let me cross the river on it—eh?"

"I don't see why. They ought to have been glad to. They didn't know the honour they were losing. Now, if you'd only have told 'em who you were——"

"Shut up!" cried Plunger, pinching Harry's arm. "But, I say, couldn't we just have some lovely games, if we only had a raft like that?"

"Lovely," assented Harry.

Here was silence between them for some moments, as they watched the raft and the men upon it with envious eyes.

"Duffers!" exclaimed Plunger, at length giving expression to his feelings.

"Don't take on so, Freddy."

"Can't help it—duffers!" repeated Plunger, with still greater emphasis.

Silence again, broken by Harry.

"Would you really like to go on that raft, Freddy!"

"Stow poking fun."

"I'm not poking fun, I'm quite serious. Seems to me that if we really wanted to go on that raft, and really made up our minds to it, we ought to be able to manage it."

"How?" came the eager question.

"Easy enough if we go the right way, and don't make a mess of it, like Newall did that night when he walked into the Forum."

"We're not talking about the Forum," said Plunger quickly, giving Harry another pinch. "We're talking about rafts—that raft," pointing to the one on the river.

"And it's that raft I'm talking about. Have you ever noticed what happens on a Saturday?"

"Many things happen on a Saturday; but what is the one thing that happens in particular?"

"The workmen on the bridge leave off exactly as the clock strikes twelve—a little bit sooner if they can manage it. Never later."

"Oh, yes; they're very punctual at leaving off. But what's that to do with the raft?"

"A good deal. They always leave the raft tied up under the bridge. What would be easier than to untie it, and there you are."

"Harry, you're a genius—a reg'lar genius!" cried Plunger, bringing his hand down on Harry's back. "It never sprouted out like that when you were at Gaffer Quelch's. It's come on since you've been at Garside. I must have helped it."

Plunger had undoubtedly helped in the development of what he was pleased to term Harry's "genius," but whether altogether to the advantage of Harry time alone could show.

"You helped it, Freddy! The only help you give is helping Number One. You ought to have belonged to the help-myself society. You'd have been just the fellow for the president."

Plunger kicked Harry, and Harry returned the compliment; then their eyes went to the river again, and the raft, which was just getting under way again to cross to the other side.

"Those duffers don't know how to use a raft," said Harry contemptuously, after he had been watching the workmen for some moments.

"Of course they don't. That's the worst of being landlubbers. Wish we could only take them in hand and show them."

"One of 'em ought to be wearing a suit of goatskins and things of that sort, with a great cap on his head, with the hair on the outside to shoot off the rain if it came on," said Harry thoughtfully.

"Like Robinson Crusoe, you mean?"

"Like Robinson Crusoe. That slim fellow with the black hair would do for Friday, and the others could be Indians—if they only knew how to do things properly; but they don't."

"They don't," repeated Plunger emphatically. "My, if we only had the working of that raft, Harry, we'd make things hum!"

It was tantalizing to watch the men, so they turned away with visions of what it would be possible to accomplish if they only had possession of the raft. They could discover a desert island on the other side of the river, pitch their tent on it, and do "lots of things." Full of these splendid visions, they walked along in silence, each busy with his own thoughts.

"I think we can work it, Harry," Plunger at length remarked.

"Work what?"

"That Crusoe idea. We can get the raft next Saturday, and easily peg out a desert island on the other side of the river. I shan't want to dress up much. I've got a ragged jacket which'll be near enough for skins, and a soft felt which I can cut round the brim with Mrs. Trounce's scissors. That'll do for the hat."

"Whose hat?"

"Crusoe's hat, of course."

"And who's going to wear it?"

"Who's going to wear it?" Plunger's eyebrows disappeared into the roots of his hair in amazement at the question. "I am, of course!"

"You mean that you're going to be Crusoe?"

"Of course!"

And Plunger's eyebrows remained so high up in the roots of his hair at the bare idea of anybody else playing the part that it seemed as though they would never come down again.

"Well, but where do I come in?"

"You can be Friday or an Indian."

"And make myself black, and go about without any shoes and socks on, and get thorns in my feet, and—and things like that. No, Freddy; no, I don't! We'll change parts. I'll be Crusoe; you be Friday. You look more like a savage than I do."

Plunger did not seem altogether pleased with the compliment, for he brought his knuckles down on Harry's head; but Harry was not quite the meek boy he was when he first came to Garside, so he returned the compliment, with interest. Then Plunger tried by cajolery to induce him to let him be Crusoe, and satisfy himself with the part of Friday, but Harry remained firm.

"I first thought of it," he argued, "and I ought to have first choice. If we're going on that raft, I'm going as Crusoe, Freddy."

Plunger preserved a gloomy silence for some moments; then he suddenly lifted his head, and his eyes sparkled.

"I've got it. Why shouldn't there be two Crusoes?"

"Two Crusoes! You and I, Freddy?"

"Yes."

Harry had never heard of two Crusoes existing on the desert island at one and the same time, but he didn't see why there shouldn't be. It would be more up to date. Besides it solved the difficulty, so he promptly consented.

"But, who'll be Man Friday?"

"Oh, we'll make the Camel Man Friday. He'll do splendidly."

"The Camel" was the cruel nickname it will be remembered that Newall had given to Hibbert. Unfortunately, a name like that sticks, and it had stuck to Hibbert.