CHAPTER I.

Elmdon School-Dr. Tickletail-Dr. Noble-Jack EdwardsHoliday Rambles-School Traditions-The Ghost-Cricket— Returning to Quarters.

WHAT a nice old town Elmdon was ! I was at school there: that was in old Dr. Tickletail's time. How well I remember the Doctor, with his rusty gown that had been black once, and his spectacles that would not sit straight across his nose, but rode like a butcher-boy, all down on one side; and his cane, which used to come flying across the school, and had to be carried back to its owner by the boy that was going to try its taste; and his finger jingling time with the key of his desk as he sang-for he didn't read-the odes of Horace And I haven't forgotten the coaches, twelve "up" and twelve "down" every day; and how they were covered, as well as filled, inside and out, with

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turkeys and hares, and pheasants and partridges, just the last days before the Christmas holidays begun; and the huge flocks of geese which used to go cackling and waddling along the road about Michaelmas, with their gozzards (goose-herds) to drive them and take care of them in their slow, tiresome, tedious journey up to London to be eaten there. But all this is many years ago. It is more than twenty years since the good old Doctor flung his cane for the last time, and was laid in the quiet churchyard, near the little door through which he saw his boys pass into the church, Sunday after Sunday, for so long. The coaches are forgotten as well as the Doctor; the Christmas turkeys and game go up in the luggage van, and the geese in sheep trucks, tier above tier; and when the holidays come, the boys race down to the station, not far from the river at the bottom of the town, instead of being taken up at the school by the "Blue," or the "Wellington," or the "Telegraph."

I left long before the railway came, and how strange it seemed to me, when, having to go to Elmdon again after several years, on coming out from a cutting I found myself passing just below the dear old churchyard, and the great old elms that surrounded it to the south. How well I remembered them, and the scrape I got into when

the parson's man caught me one morning cutting notches and driving nails in the huge twisting stalks of ivy that clothed those elm-tree trunks-for I was trying to get gum-ivy, which an old fishing book I had said was a famous thing to anoint the baits with and make the fish bite; only it never made any difference that I could find

out.

The reason of my going back to Elmdon was this. I had been paying a visit to my old schoolfellow and friend, Harry Benson. We of course got talking about old school scenes, and exploits, and scrapes, and it made me very desirous to see the old place once more; and so when he went on to talk of his younger son, Bob, who was now at school there, and how well he was doing, and what a good master and worthy successor to our old Doctor the present head-master, Doctor Noble, was, I determined that on my way home from London-whither I had to go after leaving Harry Benson's I would go round by Elmdon and make a visit to Bob, (who was my god-son, and whom I had not seen since he was promoted to jacket and trousers,) the excuse for doing so.

Well, the 2.30 train was not more than five minutes late, and almost before I had time to turn round on the platform, two lads came up to me, and the shorter of the two spoke to me at

once, saying, “I am sure you must be Mr. Spencer."

I couldn't help smiling, and replied, "Why, what makes you think so?"

"Oh! because they told me"They told you," interrupted I; "who told you?"

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Why, in a letter I got from home yesterday morning, they said I was to look for a gentleman that wanted shaving, and I am sure you want it, sir. And besides, I think"

But here he paused, looking up into my face with a twinkle in his eye.

"Well," I said, after a moment or two waiting for him to go on," and what do you think besides ?"

"Why, that you look like a 'brick,' and papa always says you are a brick and no mistake."

As I happened to have a beard that would have been a small fortune to a sofa-stuffer, and did not feel inclined to disclaim looking like "a brick," whatever that might imply, I acknowledged that I was Mr. Spencer, and shook hands very heartily with Master Bob.

"And who is your friend?" I said to him, after having sent forward my luggage to the "Angel," where I was going to stop, and beginning to walk in the same direction myself.