He landed from the skiff, and, like a thief in the night, stole up to his father's house. Before he attempted to ascend the trellis, he pulled off his boots, and fastening them together with his handkerchief, slung them around his neck. He reached the roof of the conservatory without noise, and then, to his utter consternation, discovered a light in Mr. Presby's room. But the precaution he had taken in the removal of his boots enabled him to reach his chamber window without producing a sound. Then, to his astonishment and terror, he found that the window he had left open was closed.

Some one had been there.



CHAPTER VIII.

RICHARD BEHOLDS HOW GREAT A MATTER A LITTLE FIRE KINDLETH.

The window of the chamber was not fastened, and when Richard gained admission, he found the door locked as he had left it. The window must therefore have been closed from the outside; but this did not seem probable, and he came to the conclusion that the sash had dropped of itself. This was a very comforting reflection, and it removed many of the doubts and fears which disturbed him.

Congratulating himself upon his escape from manifold perils by land and water, Richard undressed himself and went to bed. But tired as he was, he could not go to sleep for some time. His brain was busy calculating the chances of detection, and devising schemes to avert suspicion if any should be fastened upon him. Nature triumphed at last, and he went to sleep.

Late the next morning, when he went down stairs, he was pale and haggard. Somewhat to his surprise, he found that his father had not gone to the city as usual. Every body looked sober, and Mr. Grant's face wore a very stern and troubled expression. Richard ate his breakfast in silence, wondering all the time what so many serious and averted faces portended.

"You were out again last night, Richard," said his father, when they met in the sitting room at a later hour.

"No, sir, not that I am aware of," replied Richard, with as much self-possession as he could call to his aid, though his heart was leaping with fear and anxiety.

"If you had been out, shouldn't you have been aware of it?" asked his father, fixing a penetrating gaze upon him.

"I don't know. I only judge by what happened the other night," answered Richard, who had determined to "run" the sleep-walking expedient again.

"You mean by that you got up in your sleep if you got up at all?"

"Yes, sir."

"You were entirely unconscious when you got up the other night and went off in the Greyhound—were you?"

"Of course I was."

A faint smile played upon the lips of Mr. Grant, while the faces of uncle Obed and Mr. Presby wore a decidedly comical expression. Though Richard could not see "where the laugh came in," he was conscious that he had placed himself in a ludicrous attitude.

"And you were asleep last night when you went out—were you?" continued Mr. Grant.

"If I went out, I suppose I was," replied Richard, going to the window and looking out, thus turning his back to those in the room.

He could not bear the penetrating gaze of his father, and the quizzing glances of Mr. Presby and uncle Obed were utterly insupportable.

"Mr. Presby, you have devoted considerable attention to the phenomena of sleep-walking," added uncle Obed. "What do you think of this case?"

"I think it is the most remarkable one on record," replied the philosopher, whose smile had grown into a broad grin. "Richard, I am deeply interested in the investigation of this matter, and I want to ask you a few questions. Will you oblige me by answering them?"

"I will if I can," said Richard, rather doggedly, for he was fully satisfied, by this time, that the old gentleman was quizzing him.

"If you can, then, will you be kind enough to tell me whether Sandy Brimblecom was asleep or not, when he joined you in the boat at the point below Whitestone?"

"Who? Sandy joined me?" stammered Richard, staggered by this home thrust of the friend of the family.

"Yes; I am very anxious to know whether there is a sympathy between sleep-walkers which draws them together, even though separated by miles of space."

Richard made no reply; he had none to make. He had no idea how much his tormentors knew of the events of the night.

"You don't answer, my boy. I have been the butt of your uncle for the last week on account of my devotion to the cause of science. I have studied your case very thoroughly, and I may want to make a report of it to the scientific associations."

"Why don't you answer him, Dick?" added uncle Obed, who, notwithstanding the serious character of the matter, could not restrain his laughter at the ludicrous side of the question.

"I don't care about your making fun of me," replied the poor somnambulist.

"My dear boy, this is a scientific, a physiological investigation. You pulled out the nails which your father had driven into the window; you skulked away from the house; you went down to your boat, got under way in a squally, dark night, and met another sleep-walker on the other side of the river;—I presume he was asleep, for you do not say to the contrary;—you sailed down the river to a certain inlet; you landed, and went up to Mr. Batterman's barn; you removed the horses and oxen from it; you poured turpentine upon a bunch of loose hay prepared for the purpose; you lighted your matches and set fire to it; and all the while you were fast asleep. And you returned home and went to bed again without waking. Really, my dear boy, this is the most astonishing case of somnambulism on record. I have vainly looked over my books for a parallel instance. Can you tell me what your dreams were last night? Did you dream any thing of this kind?"

Richard was filled with dismay at this recital of the events of the night. The mysterious boat he had twice seen was the only explanation of the minuteness of Mr. Presby's details that suggested itself to his mind.

"You talked quite rationally in your sleep, which is a new development in somnambulism. But, after all," continued the devotee of science, "the phenomena of last night were not near so remarkable as those of the former occasion. By the way, my dear boy, do sleep-walkers have any particular fondness for watermelons?"

Uncle Obed laughed outright at this sally, and even Mr. Grant, wounded as his paternal heart was by the discovery, could not help smiling, though he felt more like weeping than laughing.

"You are silent, my dear boy," resumed Mr. Presby. "This is an important physiological inquiry, and you would enlarge the sphere of human knowledge of this interesting subject, if you would answer me."

Richard was inclined to get into a passion, but the consciousness of his guilt restrained him, and he listened in silence to the satirical remarks of the old gentleman.

"But the most astounding fact of all is, that you could take such an unmerciful flogging as Mr. Batterman gave you without waking up," continued the inquisitor. "Perhaps you did wake under this cruel infliction, but went to sleep again when the castigation was over. Can you inform me on this point?"

"You have made fun enough of me," replied Richard; but his words were very tame, considering the amount of provocation he had endured.

"Were you asleep, Richard, on these two nights when you have been prowling about the neighborhood?" demanded his father, sternly.

"No, sir, I was not," said Richard, to whom the ridicule of Mr. Presby and uncle Obed was more terrible than any punishment he could receive for his misdeeds.

"I am glad to see you have some honesty left in your composition. You acknowledge the deception, and we will let the farce end here. You have become a thief and a midnight incendiary. I have been weak and indulgent towards you. My eyes are opened, and I shall pursue a different course."

Mr. Grant's lip trembled with emotion as he spoke. Mr. Presby and uncle Obed suddenly became very serious, and it was plain to the culprit that the farce had really ended.

"Richard, I knew you were wild, and even dissolute, but I did not think you would steal," added Mr. Grant, with deep feeling.

"It was only for fun, father," pleaded Richard.

"Do you practise the trade of the incendiary for fun?" asked his father, sternly.

"That was only because Mr. Batterman flogged me. He had no business to do that."

"And so you would burn his barn?"

"I didn't burn it."

"It would have burned to the ground, if Mr. Presby and Ben had not put the fire out. I have let my friend expose you in his own way, because the trouble he has taken reveals to me your true character. You are worse than your dissolute companions. Richard, you have become a villain!"

Mr. Grant rose from his chair and walked away to hide the tears which this sad revelation of his son's character drew from his eyes.

"He is not so bad as he might be," interposed Mr. Presby. "Remember that he saved the animals in the barn."

"The record is black even with this redeeming line," said Mr. Grant. "I would rather follow my son to his grave than have him become such a wretch as you are, Richard. Shall I let you take the consequences of your crime?"

"What consequences, father?" asked Richard, with a degree of humility he had never before exhibited.

"Are you a simpleton? Don't you know the penalty of your crime?"

"We didn't burn the barn."

"In the eye of the law you are just as guilty as though the barn had burned to the ground. If convicted, you would be sent to the state prison. I have made up my mind what to do with you," said Mr. Grant, as he walked out of the room, for his emotions would no longer permit him to remain.

"You have got into a bad scrape, Dick," added uncle Obed, as he shook his head, and followed his brother, leaving the culprit alone with Mr. Presby.

"He will not let them send me to the state prison?" said Richard, fearful that his father might have abandoned all hope of redeeming him from the error of his ways.

"You have been a very bad boy," replied Mr. Presby.

"I am very sorry for it, and I mean to do better."

"I hope you will, my dear boy. Your father has suffered terribly since I returned, and poor Bertha has done nothing but weep for the last two hours. You are ruining yourself and wounding the hearts of your friends more than words can describe."

"I will try to do better."

"Your father will not trust you again."

"What is he going to do?"

"He will inform you himself," replied Mr. Presby, as he withdrew from the room.

Richard was alone with his own thoughts and fears. He felt as though his career had reached its close, though he could not imagine what terrible thing his father intended to do. He was really sorry for what he had done, whether his sorrow was caused by a genuine feeling that he had done wrong, or by the fear of punishment.

His mind was in a confused state; the past with its sorrows, and the future with its terrors, whirled through his brain. He wanted time for reflection, and leaving the house, he walked down to the pier to deliberate upon the situation.

Ben was there, and Richard began to question him, for Mr. Presby had intimated that the boatman was with him the night before. From him he learned all the facts in regard to their movements. It appeared that the old gentleman had heard Richard when he opened the window, and had watched him closely, fully satisfied, however, that he was asleep.

When Mr. Presby, from the roof of the conservatory, had noted the direction he took, he had closed the window, and called the boatman to assist him. They had followed him in the large sail boat, and landed near the point where Sandy was taken on board the Greyhound. By this time, Ben's original idea that Richard was wide awake was adopted by Mr. Presby. By the exercise of great skill and caution, they had kept near the boys, and had put out the fire almost as soon as it was kindled.

While they were still on the ground, Mr. Batterman, who had been awakened by the bright light of the burning hay, made his appearance. He found the two old men in the very act of putting out the fire. Mr. Presby smothered the flames by throwing his great-coat upon it.

"Now, Mr. Richard," continued the boatman, "Mr. Presby saved you. He was acquainted with Batterman, and has a mortgage on his farm. The farmer suspected who had attempted to burn his building; he laid it to you at once, and told us all about the scrape when you stole the melons. You don't know how mad he was, Mr. Richard. But Mr. Presby made it all right with him, and he promised not to prosecute. Mr. Richard, you had better not walk in your sleep any more."

Richard did not like this last remark, and he walked down the pier. The state prison was only a bugbear then; but his father meant to do something. He was about to get into his skiff to visit the Greyhound when Ben hailed him.

"My orders are, not to let you have any of the boats," said he.

The new order of things had begun, and he returned to the house. His father was in the sitting room when he entered.

"Richard," said Mr. Grant, "to-morrow you will leave home for some months. I have decided to place you in a boarding school, where you will be under the eye of one who is competent to manage you."

This was the great matter which a little fire had kindled.



CHAPTER IX.

RICHARD GOES TO THE TUNBROOK MILITARY INSTITUTE.

Richard had several times before been threatened with a residence at a boarding school. Most of his education had been obtained at home, under the superintendence of tutors, and special teachers in various branches. He had been under little or no restraint; and the consequence was, that his mental discipline had been very imperfect, and his stock of knowledge was small, considering the opportunities he had enjoyed.

His father had long been conscious of his deficiencies, and proposed to send him to a boarding school, for the benefit of its discipline; but Richard was so averse to the idea, that his father had from time to time postponed his departure. When Mr. Grant saw his son associating with bad boys he again proposed to send him, and had actually sought out a suitable place for him; but his own financial trials and troubles had prevented him from executing his purpose.

If Richard's education had failed to develop his intellect in an adequate degree, it had built up a sound and vigorous constitution. Riding on horseback, sailing and rowing, had been pastimes for which he had sacrificed intellectual culture. But there was still time to remedy this deficiency, for the youth was hardly sixteen.

The establishment which Mr. Grant had selected for the future residence of his son was the Tunbrook Military Institute, under the superintendence of Colonel Brockridge. This place had been chosen, not because it was a military institution, but because its principal was a thorough disciplinarian. He had the reputation of being a just and fair man, and was very popular with boys of strong constitution and decisive temperaments. No "milk-and-water" boys were ever sent to him; or, if they were, they soon left the Institute, or became vigorous and decided in their habits.

Colonel Brockridge had been in the army, though his title was won in the militia. He was a thorough teacher, and was conscientious and faithful in the discharge of his duties to those who were intrusted to his care. He was a "positive man," and no fear of what the father or mother would say or do ever induced him to alter his plans, or change his purposes.

Though the Institute was conducted on military principles, it was not peculiarly the school of the soldier. The principal believed in discipline; this was his hobby; and he believed that he could best secure system and order by adopting military routine. His success justified his theory. He had more applicants than he had places.

Richard knew all about the Tunbrook Military Institute. He had carefully read its circular, and its rules and regulations. They did not suit him. He was not a devotee of discipline, in its application to himself. He was very impatient of restraint, as the reader has already seen, and he did not like the idea of being sent to this Institute.

When his father had given him his final sentence, he retired to his chamber. The shame which attended the discovery of his guilt still rested heavily upon him, and he was in a more humble and tractable mood than usual. Under ordinary circumstances he would have rebelled against the decision of his father. He would have frightened his sister by threatening to run away to sea. It is true, this thought occurred to him on the present occasion; but Ben had told him enough about the life of a sailor to convince him that he should not improve his condition by such a course.

There seemed to be no alternative but passive obedience. He did not want to go, but he felt that his father must certainly conquer if he attempted to resist. He had always had his own way to a very great extent. He had always been a conqueror himself—at least he felt so, and he could not endure the thought of being compelled to yield implicit obedience to any person.

At this time Richard's thoughts took a peculiar turn. The shame he endured, the reproaches that had been heaped upon him, caused him to feel that there was something wanting in his character. The path in which he had been travelling, for the first time in his life seemed to lead to destruction. When he considered that he had been detected in the act of stealing, and of setting fire to a barn, and in practising a gross and wicked deception, he felt that his road was down hill; that he should become a dissolute and worthless man.

He was sitting on the stool of repentance. From a prudential penitence he had arrived at a genuine one. Something must be done. There was something to be conquered. There was a harder battle before him than any he had yet fought. He was master of the boats, of the horses, of the servants, and even of his companions at Whitestone; but there was one whom he had never conquered—one that held him in leading-strings, and was pulling him down to ruin and destruction.

He must conquer himself.

Richard had had such thoughts as these before, but they had never seemed so substantial as now. He felt the necessity of reforming his life and character—of conquering himself, his greatest enemy. As he looked upon his dissolute course, upon the events of the preceding night, and its fellow a week before, he was disgusted with himself, and wondered how he could so easily embrace his besetting sin.

While he was engaged in these reflections, his sister Bertha entered his chamber. She had heard of the sentence, and she had come to comfort him. Her eyes were still red with weeping, for she had almost lost hope of the reform of her brother.

"I have been trying to see you for the last two hours," said she, as she sat down by his side.

"Don't cry any more, Berty," said he, with unwonted tenderness.

"I will try not to do so, Richard. Father says you are going away to-morrow."

"Yes, Berty, I suppose I am," replied he, with an appearance of resignation.

"I shall miss you very much."

"It will be a good miss—won't it?"

"Why, Richard! You don't think so—do you?"

"Well, I have been a kind of nuisance to you."

"No, Richard; don't say that."

"I have been in all sorts of scrapes."

"I would a great deal rather have you stay at home, and—and——"

"And be a good boy," added Richard.

"That's what I mean, Richard."

"Berty, I think I have sowed all my wild oats now."

"I hope so."

"I suppose I have been a very bad boy," said he, with a kind of deprecating smile, as though he did not believe more than one half he said.

"It was all those bad boys you went with; if it hadn't been for them, you would have done very well. That Sandy Brimblecom hasn't done you any good."

"I hope I haven't done him any hurt, Berty. I won't be mean, when I get into trouble. I don't think Sandy is any worse than I am. I don't know but that he is a little better. I suppose he and I must part company now."

"It will be all for the best."

"Berty, I am off to-morrow. I have given you a great deal of trouble. I mean to do better. I am going to turn over a new leaf."

"O, I hope so, Richard!"

"I mean so, this time."

"I am so glad!"

"Don't you think father will let me stay at home, if I do well?"

"Perhaps he will."

"I don't like the idea of being put into a strait jacket, and tied to a bell rope."

"It would be hard for you."

"I can't stand it, any how. I have made up my mind to be a saint. I intend to keep out of all scrapes, and behave with perfect propriety all the time, night and day."

"I hope you are not jesting, Richard," said Bertha, who did not like the facetious language with which he clothed his resolutions.

"I'm in earnest. I mean every word I say. I solemnly promise you that I will be a pattern of propriety; but I don't like the Tunbrook Military Institute. I don't like the idea of being tied down to Colonel Brockridge's little finger; of being drummed and fifed here and there; and of reciting a Latin lesson at six o'clock in the morning, after an hour's drill on the parade ground. Berty, to tell you the truth, I don't believe I shall be able to keep my good resolutions, if I am to be tied to a bell rope, or have to move by the tap of a drum."

"I hope you will."

"If I could stay at home, and have my pony and my boat, I should do first rate."

Whatever the experienced reader may think of Richard's sincerity, he was uttering an honest opinion. He sincerely feared that his courage would not be equal to the work of submitting to the discipline of Tunbrook, and conquering himself, at one and the same time. Tunbrook and Colonel Brockridge seemed to be formidable obstacles in the path of reform.

"You would soon get used to the discipline of the Institute," suggested Bertha.

"I might get used to it as the old man's horse got used to living upon shavings—when he died. If I go, I shall try to submit; but I don't want to go."

"I don't see how it can be avoided. Father is determined that you shall go."

"You can save me from this strait jacket, if you will, Berty."

"What can I do, Richard?"

"Mr. Presby will do any thing you ask him to do. You can tell him that you think it would injure me to be sent to Tunbrook. Then he can talk with father about it; and father will do any thing that Mr. Presby wishes."

Bertha promised to speak to Mr. Presby about the matter, and she did so at once; but instead of Bertha convincing him that it would injure Richard to be sent to the Military School, he convinced her that it would be the best thing in the world for him.

"I am afraid I spoiled my own children by over indulgence, and I cannot counsel your father to do the same thing," said the old gentleman, with deep feeling.

Bertha returned to her brother with his answer. Richard was not angry, as she feared he would be, and this was a very hopeful sign. But he went over his argument against strait jackets, bell ropes, and drums and fifes, once more, and then proposed that he should be put on probation for one or two months; and if he did any thing wrong, he would submit without a murmur.

Bertha went to Mr. Presby again, and was so far successful that the old gentleman agreed to speak with Mr. Grant in the evening. He kept his promise, but the father carried a stronger argument than the friend of the family. Richard was doomed to go to the Military Institute, and the fact was patent to him before he retired. He felt as though he wanted to submit, but the unconquered enemy that had so often led him astray was rebellious.

He did not sleep well that night. He was excited by the prospect before him. His good resolutions seemed to be very shaky, and he found himself running away from them. When he heard the clock strike twelve, he actually jumped out of bed, under a sudden impulse, fully resolved to run away and go to sea. He thought he would take the Greyhound, and make his way down to the city and ship the next day. He put on a portion of his clothes, under the influence of this impulse.

"This would be becoming a saint with a vengeance!" said he to himself, as he threw off his clothes, and got into bed again. "I told Bertha I would try to submit, and I will."

This was the first decided advantage which Richard had gained over his great enemy; but the battle was a mere skirmish with the outposts of the potent foe. It was a victory, however, and it strengthened him. It improved the morale of his fighting element.

He had resisted temptation, and angels ministered unto him. While they ministered, peace came, and he fell asleep.

At an early hour in the morning he was called by his father. With the assistance of Bertha he packed his trunk and prepared himself for the journey. He was sad, but submissive. At nine o'clock, having bid adieu to all his friends, and taken a sorrowful survey of Woodville, he and his father were driven down to the railroad station.

Before night they reached Tunbrook, and Richard was introduced to the terrible Colonel Brockridge. He was a little man of fifty, with great bushy red whiskers, whose whole face seemed to be eclipsed by the wonderful sharpness of his eyes. He shook hands with Richard, spoke to him very kindly, and hoped they should be good friends. The new recruit was shown to his quarters, as his room was called, and Mr. Grant took his leave.

Richard felt that he was alone with the future.



CHAPTER X.

RICHARD LEARNS THE MEANING OF RIGHT ABOUT FACE.

The apartment to which Richard was shown was called "Barrack B." There were ten rooms of this kind, known by the first ten letters of the alphabet, omitting J. Each barrack contained twenty narrow iron bedsteads, and no two boys were allowed to occupy the same bed. At the head of each barrack, there was an alcove large enough to contain the bed of the assistant teacher, who had charge of the pupils in the room. This apartment of the instructor was screened from the view of the boys by a curtain, so that he could see without being seen, when he desired to do so.

There was a small closet in the wall between every two beds, for the use of the boys, and Richard was directed to transfer the contents of his trunk to this receptacle, by Mr. Gault, the assistant teacher in charge of Barrack B. Richard opened the trunk, and then sat down upon the bed to wait until the instructor should retire, for he did not care to exhibit his wardrobe to a stranger.

"Proceed, if you please," said Mr. Gault.

"I think I will do this business by myself," replied Richard.

"According to a rule of the Institute, the wardrobe of each pupil must be inspected," said the teacher.

"Inspected?" asked the recruit. "What for?"

"To see that no improper articles are brought in."

"I would rather not," added Richard.

"The rule is imperative," said Mr. Gault, decidedly.

The strait jacket had already begun to oppress the male heir of Woodville, and he was disposed to resent the indignity, as he deemed it; but almost the last words of Bertha had been an injunction to observe the rules of the school, however distasteful they might be. Reluctantly, and with the feeling that he was sacrificing his independence, Richard transferred his clothing to the closet assigned to him. Mr. Gault carefully watched the proceeding, and confiscated several articles which were declared to be contraband, among which were some cakes and other sweetmeats, prepared by Bertha, and several yellow-covered novels he had purchased in Whitestone.

"Can't I have those things?" asked Richard.

"No, sir; no boy belonging to the Institute is allowed to eat cake on the premises."

"Why not?"

"We do not explain to boys the reason for every thing we do," replied Mr. Gault, rather curtly.

"I don't think you have any right to take my property away from me."

"I don't ask your opinion, and it is of no value whatever."

"You needn't be so crusty about it," said Richard, who was wholly unused to this style of remark.

"We tolerate no impudence here. If you use an expression of that kind again, you will be put under arrest, and spend the night in the guard house."

Richard's blood was beginning to boil, and he was tempted to pitch into the insolent instructor who dared to use language of that kind to the only son of the proprietor of Woodville. But he did not want to get into trouble the first day; besides, the words "arrest" and "guard house" had a very ominous sound to him.

"Can't I have my books? They are not cake," asked Richard.

"No, sir; you cannot. Such trash as that is not fit for boys to read. Your property will be kept safely for you, and when you leave the school, you can have it again."

"The cake will not be very good then."

"You can do any thing you please with it, except eat it. You can sell it, or give it away."

"You can do what you like with it."

"Very well. Have you any money about you?"

"I have."

"You will hand it to me, and a receipt for the amount will be forwarded to your father."

"Do you mean to rob me?" demanded Richard, his face flushing at this new indignity.

"I refer you to the regulations of the Institute. We provide every thing the boys require, and they have no more use for money than they have for wings."

"I won't give up my money."

"Very well, sir. I will refer the matter to Colonel Brockridge, and you may settle it with him. Follow me, if you please," said Mr. Gault, after Richard had locked the trunk containing the contraband articles.

The new scholar followed the teacher to the office of the principal on the first floor. He was very uneasy and nervous, and almost wished he had given up his money. But he felt that the tutor was carrying things altogether too far. It was subjecting him to a needless indignity.

"This young man refuses to give up his money," said Mr. Gault to the colonel, who was writing at his desk.

Without waiting to ascertain the result of the interview, the assistant departed, leaving the obdurate youth alone with the owner of those terribly sharp eyes.

"Have you read our regulations, Grant?" said Colonel Brockridge, turning round and looking the recruit full in the face.

But there was a pleasant smile upon his face, and his words were gentle, and even respectful.

"Yes, sir," replied Richard.

"Then you are aware that pupils are not allowed to have money—are you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"Boys are tempted to purchase various articles which injure them, such as cakes and candy, and improper books. Therefore we think it is better that they should not be provided with money. Is this a satisfactory explanation?"

"I don't know but it is, sir," replied Richard, doubtfully.

"It satisfies me, at any rate. How much money have you?"

"About five dollars."

"Now, Grant, if you will hand it to me, I will give you a receipt for it, or send it to your father. I will keep it, subject to your order, if you desire it."

"I don't like the rule, sir."

"I think it is an excellent rule. But you waste my time. Your decision, Grant."

"I should like to think of the matter, sir."

"Your decision at once," said the colonel; and Richard saw the sharp eyes grow a shade sharper, and heard the deep voice grow a shade sterner.

The recruit winced under the necessity thus laid upon him. The principal could not be trifled with, and he must either submit, or take the consequences, which were so indefinite to him that they seemed sufficiently terrible.

"I will give up the money," said he, with a struggle, as he handed his wallet to the colonel.

"I am glad to find you are a discreet and sensible youth," added the colonel, as he wrote the receipt, and handed it, with the wallet, from which he had taken the money, back to the owner. "If you wish to use money for any proper purpose, you can draw on me, and your paper shall be honored to the extent of the funds in my hands."

"I don't think I am likely to want money here," answered Richard, gloomily.

"Every needed article will be furnished. Now, Grant, I am afraid you have come here with an intention to resist our wholesome regulations. If so, you must learn the meaning of "right about, face"—in its moral application, I mean. Your father has told me all about you, and given me explicit instructions to make a man of you. I understand your case perfectly. If you are disposed to observe the rules of the Institute, we shall treat you like a gentleman. The future is before you, young man, and you must choose for yourself."

"I intend to obey the rules, sir," said Richard, rather crest-fallen after what had happened.

"I am very glad to hear you say so. In a few days you will be provided with the uniform worn by the pupils of the Institute. Here is a time card for the fall term. Look it over carefully, for you will be required to conform to it very strictly. To-morrow morning you will take your place with the boys, and go through with the programme just as though you had been here all your lifetime. We make no allowances for beginners; they will have seasonable warning, and they must be on the ground promptly at the moment. There will be a dress parade in a few moments, and you can go out and witness it, if you choose," said Colonel Brockridge, as he handed Richard the card. "After supper, Mr. Gault will introduce you to the boys of your barrack."

Richard took the card, and left the room. As he passed out of the building he descried the boys at play on the lawn. They were all dressed in a uniform of gray cloth, though some wore a loose blouse, and some, in the heat of play, had thrown off their jackets. The new scholar walked over to the flagstaff, where the stars and stripes were flying, and seated himself on a bench. The boys seemed to be having a good time, in spite of the strictness of the discipline. As he listened to the tremendous noise they made, and saw the rough-and-tumble games in which they were engaged, he became convinced that the Institute was not of the Blember style, and he began to have some hope that he should survive the shock.

While he was waiting for the dress parade, he examined the time card given him by the principal. To him it had a decidedly strait-jacket odor, and he read it with a feeling of repugnance, not to say disgust. It was as follows:—

"TUNBROOK MILITARY INSTITUTE.

FALL TERM.

From Sept. 1 to Dec. 1.

6 A. M. Reveille. 6.30 " Study. 7.30 " Breakfast. 8 " Squad Drill. 9 " Study and Recitation. 11 " Battalion Drill. 1 P. M. Dinner. 1.30 " Recreation. 3 " Study and Recitation. 5 " Recreation. 6 " Dress Parade. 6.30 " Supper. 7 " Off Time. 9 " Retire.

The 'Off Time' belongs to the student; but deficient lessons must be made up during these hours.

Camp duty will be performed by all students for one week, in each term, except the winter term.

J. BROCKRIDGE, Principal."

Richard thought the time card was rather formidable, but he came to the conclusion that he could stand it, if the rest of the boys could.

While he was musing upon the present and the future, the rattling drum sounded, and the boys instantly suspended their play. In a moment the whole crowd had disappeared within the buildings that flanked the lawn; but presently the rattle of several drums was heard, and one company after another marched upon the parade ground, and formed the line. Every boy was dressed in full uniform now, the blouses and other non-conforming garments having been thrown aside, and every one wore white gloves.

Richard found that the teachers were not the officers of the companies, or the battalion, as he had expected. Several of the instructors were present, but they appeared to take no part in the proceedings. Every thing was managed by the boys, apparently without any assistance from the teachers. The captains, lieutenants, sergeants, and corporals were all in appropriate uniform, with their rank designated as in the United States army. The swords and muskets were genuine weapons, though not so large and heavy as those used by older soldiers. The students varied in age from fourteen to eighteen.

The various evolutions of the dress parade were regularly performed. The adjutant announced to the major that the parade was formed; the band, consisting of eight pieces, marched up and down the line; the first sergeants reported "all present or accounted for," and the company officers marched up to the commander of the battalion. The boys were as rigid as statues when the order, "Parade—rest," was given. The companies marched back to the armories, broke ranks, and were dismissed.

Richard was delighted with this exhibition, and the Tunbrook Military Institute went up many degrees in his estimation. He followed the boys into the supper room, where, without much ceremony, he made the acquaintance of several captains and lieutenants. He received a hearty welcome from his new associates, and began to feel very much at home.

The supper was not exactly what he had been accustomed to at Woodville, but it was plain wholesome food; and when he saw officers and privates, from the major down to the drummers, partake of it with hearty relish, he was not disposed to grumble.

After supper, the boys scattered in every direction. Some went out doors, some to the barracks, some to the school rooms. It was "off-time," and without much assistance from Mr. Gault, who attempted to introduce him, he made the acquaintance of half the students in the Institute. At nine o'clock the sound of the drum rolled through the halls, and the boys all retired.



CHAPTER XI.

RICHARD GOES THROUGH THE DRILL, AND HAS A SET-TO IN THE GROVE.

Richard slept very well, and was attending to the business of sleeping with great pertinacity, when the reveille sounded at six o'clock in the morning. He did not feel much like getting up, and though the other boys in Barrack B instantly jumped out of bed, he did not heed the summons. It went against his grain to get up at the sound of a drum, or of a bell; not that he cared to lie in bed any longer, but the principle of the thing was utterly objectionable.

"Come, Grant," said the boy who occupied one of the beds next to him, in a kind and friendly tone, "it's time to turn out."

"I suppose it is," yawned Richard, "but I'm not quite ready to get up yet."

"Better get up at once. They call the roll to half past six. You are in our company, you know."

"Suppose I don't get up—what then?"

"It will be all the worse for you."

"What will they do?"

"I don't know; but fellows don't like to be late at roll-call."

Richard concluded to get up, for he preferred to see a punishment inflicted upon some one besides himself before he got into trouble. Bailey—for this was the name of the boy next to him—told him what to do, and where to go, till they made their appearance at the armory of Company D, to which the recruit had been assigned. They were then sent to the school room for an hour's study. Richard was examined to ascertain his attainments, and placed in a class, and he was told to prepare himself for the lessons of the day. There was no great hardship in this, and as Richard's talents were of a high order, he had no difficulty in performing the work assigned to him.

The breakfast call scattered the boys again, and they were soon reassembled in the dining room. When they were seated, profound silence reigned throughout the apartment. The principal, all the assistant teachers, and every one else belonging to the establishment, were present. The chaplain then read a short passage from the Scriptures, which was followed by a prayer, the whole service occupying not more than three or four minutes.

The breakfast consisted of coffee, beefsteak, potatoes, with cold bread and butter. The new comer was perfectly satisfied with this fare, and taking it as a sample of his living, he did not believe he should starve.

"What next, Nevers?" asked Richard of the boy who sat next to him, and who wore the designation of an orderly sergeant.

"Squad drill, my boy. We shall give you some now," replied Nevers. "We begin to find out what a fellow is made of on drill."

There was a little spare time before the drill came on, and the new student improved it by inquiring particularly into the nature of his duties. Bailey was patient and communicative, and he obtained from him all the information he wanted.

Again the drum rattled, and the boys made their way to the several armories. The doors and windows were thrown open, and the drill commenced. It was conducted by Mr. Gault, who was assisted by various officers of the company.

"Nevers," said the assistant, "you may take Grant and instruct him in the positions."

Richard glanced at the orderly sergeant to whom this command had been given, and the look of satisfaction which Nevers put on did not please him.

"This way, if you please, Grant," said the young orderly sergeant, as he led the way to one corner of the armory.

"What are you going to do?" demanded the recruit.

"Give you the positions."

"Are you my teacher?"

"I am ordered to give you the positions," replied Nevers, chuckling with a delight which the new comer could not understand.

"You want to find out what I am made of—don't you?" said Richard, remembering what the other had said to him at breakfast.

"I always obey orders."

"Well, I think I should rather be instructed by the regular teachers."

"Very well; I will report to Mr. Gault."

"You needn't trouble yourself. If this is the custom, go ahead. I am ready."

"Stand as I do, if you please—heels on the same line, feet turned out equally, knees straight."

Richard observed all these instructions, and being a very tractable scholar, he was soon master of the positions.

"Eyes—right!" continued Nevers, explaining the meaning of the order. "Front."

There were three other boys, who had not yet been supplied with uniforms, having come to the Institute a few days before. These also were placed in Nevers's care, and he began to drill them in the facings.

"Attention—squad," said the drill master, explaining what he meant, and going through with the next movement. "Right—face."

Richard did not come to time, and the sergeant repeated his instructions, and gave the order again; but it was done no better than the first time.

"Move quicker, Grant. How long will it take you to turn on your left heel? Now, try again. Right—face!"

The young gentleman from Woodville did not like the style of the drill master's remarks. Though he had been scrupulously polite in all he had said, up to the point of Richard's failure to obey the order with promptness, there was something in his tone and manner that was very offensive to him. Nevers seemed to feel that he was armed with authority, and he intended to make the new comer feel it; but Richard took his own time, and after they had tried half a dozen times, he could not "right face" till after the others had completed the movement.

"How long will it take you to turn on your heel, Grant?" said Nevers, sharply, when his patience had been sorely tried.

"Till you speak a little more civilly," replied Richard, quietly. "Perhaps not till you have found out what I am made of."

Nevers bit his lip at this reply. Perhaps he was conscious that he ought not to have used the remark, or he might have reported the contumacy of the recruit to the assistant in charge of the room.

"We will try again," continued Nevers. "Right—face."

The result was no better than before; for Richard was so offended at the manner of the instructor that he determined not to obey.

"Well, Grant, you won't get round till the first day of January. You are a perfect dough-head," said Nevers, the last remark being in a low tone, though it was distinctly heard by the subject of it.

"All right," muttered Richard. "If you have found out what my head is made of, I will show you, by and by, what my fist is made of."

"Ready when you are," replied Nevers, dropping his voice so that the assistant teacher could not hear him. "Now, about—face;" and he explained the movement, and went through with it himself.

Richard, having made up his mind what to do when the occasion offered, did not deem it necessary to carry his resistance any farther at present. Besides, he was very desirous of learning the drill, that he might join the company. His "about face," therefore, was unexceptionable.

"Very well, Grant," said the drill master, in a satirical tone, and with a patronizing air.

"Your praise and your censure are all the same to me. Spare me both, if you please," replied Richard, with a dignity becoming the male heir of Woodville.

"No impudence, you puppy!" growled Nevers, his cheek flushed with anger. "If Gault wasn't here, I'd boot you."

"I will make an opportunity for you when he is not present. Do your duty like a decent fellow, if you can," answered Richard.

"Squad, forward—march," said Nevers, as he explained how the command was to be executed.

As Richard and his companions in the squad were very tractable scholars, they soon mastered all the mysteries of the step in common time, and were then instructed in the principles of the "double quick." They were then reviewed several times in what they had learned: after which muskets were placed in their hands, and they were taught to "shoulder arms," "support arms," and "present arms."

The hour devoted to drill was finished, and in spite of the overbearing manner of the instructor, Richard was pleased with the exercise, and even began to entertain visions of military glory.

The two hours devoted to study and recitations passed off without any thing to distinguish them. Richard had learned his lessons, and every thing went off to his satisfaction. The next item on the time card was the battalion drill. The recruits were placed in the ranks, and for an hour and a half they were exercised in the school of the battalion; part of the time by Colonel Brockridge, and part of the time by the young gentleman who had been elected by the company officers to the command of the battalion—Major Morgan. If Richard was pleased with the squad and company drill, he was delighted with that of the battalion.

After dinner came the hour of recreation. During this time the boys were allowed to go any where upon the estate, which contained about a hundred acres of land. Some of them made up games on the parade ground, and others went over to the grove, a short distance from the Institute buildings. Richard and Bailey, who had become good friends in the short time they had been acquainted, took a walk over the estate. They found the students engaged in every amusement which the genius of a boy could devise, from base ball and cricket down to mud dams and water wheels.

In the grove they found Nevers, whom Richard was very anxious to meet. The orderly sergeant was a year older than Richard, and somewhat heavier.

"There is the fellow I've been looking for," said Richard to his companion.

"Who—Nevers?"

"Yes, that's his name."

"Do you know him?"

"He drilled our squad this morning, and took the trouble to insult me several times."

"Just like him. He is the biggest bully in the school."

"I am going to knock some of his impudence out of him."

"You?" exclaimed Bailey, stopping short, and looking with astonishment at the new comer.

"I am going to try it, at any rate," added Richard, more modestly. "I don't let any fellow insult me."

"Why, he will break every bone in your body. He can lick any fellow in the school."

"I don't care for that. I won't be imposed upon by him."

"But it won't do; if any fellow gets up a fight here, it goes hard with him."

"Can't help that."

"But he will whip you, as sure as you attempt it. I tell you he is the bully of the school."

"He called me a dough-head, on drill, this morning."

"If you had reported him to Mr. Gault, he would have punished him severely. No officer is allowed to speak impudently to a private, especially to a new fellow. Why didn't you report him?"

"Because I feel able to fight my own battles; besides, I don't like the idea of being a tell-tale."

"I advise you not to touch him. He will make mince meat of you, if you do."

"Perhaps he will; he shall have a chance to try it."

"I should like to see him licked, and so would every other fellow in the school."

"I think I can take care of him."

"Do you know any thing about the science?"

"O, well, something," replied Richard, with assumed indifference.

But Richard had been very thoroughly educated in the science of self-defence by Bob Bleeker, who had served his time as a butcher's boy in New York city, and done duty there as a rough of the first water.

"Nevers knows all about it. He has had half a dozen pitched battles with fellows whom he bullied, and all of them got whipped. Nevers has been 'cock of the walk' for the last year, for no fellow dares say a word to him."

Richard said no more, but went directly to the place where the bully was standing. He walked up to him with a bold and defiant air.

"I am glad to meet you, Nevers," said he, with easy self-possession.

"Are you, my fighting chicken?" laughed Nevers.

"You called me a dough-head this morning," added Richard.

"I did; and to make sure that there is no mistake, I repeat it—You are a dough-head."

"Then take that for your impudence!" said Richard, as with a sudden movement he slapped the bully's face.

"A fight! A fight!" shouted the dozen boys who were gathered in that part of the grove.

"What do you want, Grant?" demanded Nevers, turning pale and red with rage. "Do you want me to lick you?"

"If you please. You wanted to know what I am made of. I am ready to show you."

"Clear the ring!" shouted the boys, forming a circle round the two belligerents.

Richard coolly threw off his jacket and vest, rolled up his shirt sleeves, unloosed his suspenders, and wound them round his waist, to support his pants. Nevers threw off his jacket only. By this time, at least fifty boys had assembled to witness the encounter; and so unpopular was the bully, that Richard had the sympathy of the whole crowd, except a few personal friends of his opponent.

"I am all ready," said Richard, taking the most approved attitude.

"So am I," replied the ready Nevers, as he edged up to Richard, and attempted to plant a blow by the side of his head, which was handsomely parried, and a left-handed rap lodged under the eye of the bully.

This blow maddened Nevers, and he redoubled his efforts to crush his opponent, as he had expected to do at the first onset. "Keep cool, and have both eyes open," had been the oft-repeated admonition of Richard's distinguished instructor in the sublime art of self-defence, and he carefully observed the instruction. After a few more plunges on the part of Nevers, he found himself on the ground, from the effect of a stunning blow which Richard had given him on the side of the head.

"Are you satisfied?" called Richard, flushed with victory.

"No!" yelled Nevers, as he sprang to his feet, and rushed upon his antagonist.

Richard's coolness enabled him to do wonders, and the bully was down again in a moment more.

"Come on if you are not satisfied," said Richard, whose nose was bleeding, and on whose face there was a huge swelling, caused by the bully's hard fist.

"Time!" shouted the boys.

"Gault's coming! Dry up!" "Settle it another time," added others, as they began to scatter.



CHAPTER XII.

RICHARD DOES A "BIG THING," AND TAKES THE CONSEQUENCES.

In the language of the "prize ring," Nevers was still able to "come to time;" therefore Richard could not be regarded as the victor in the fierce contest. The boys who formed the ring began to scatter as soon as the coming of the assistant teacher was announced. But they helped the combatants to clothe themselves, and used every effort in their power to conceal the fact that a fight had taken place.

"A drawn battle," said one of the students.

"Grant," said Nevers, "I am far from being satisfied. At five o'clock, if you are ready, we will finish this business."

"With all my heart," replied Richard, wiping the blood from his nose.

"I hope you will do so," said the bully, earnestly.

"You hope I will! Do you suppose I will not? I am willing to be put under bonds to appeal at the time named, Nevers. If any body backs out, I shall not be the one."

"I am sure I shall not."

"Good!" shouted the boys.

"Now, keep still, fellows," added Nevers. "Don't say a word about it, or all the fun will be spoiled."

The spectators of the barbarous spectacle all promised to keep still, and Richard moved over to a brook behind the grove to wash the blood from his face. His opponent had sundry very bad-looking places on his physiognomy, but no blood had been drawn.

By this time Mr. Gault made his appearance in the grove; but so well did the boys play their parts, that he did not even suspect that any unusual event had transpired. Some of them commenced a game of "tag," and played with such zeal that no one could have suspected they were not in earnest. Others engaged in conversation, and those who had followed Richard to the brook resumed their labors upon the dam and water wheel.

Mr. Gault had no particular motive in visiting the grove. He was merely taking a walk in the discharge of his duty, which included a general supervision of the boys on all the grounds. But Richard kept out of his way, fearful lest his swelled face should betray him, and thus prevent the final settlement of the account. He felt like a victor already, for he was perfectly confident that his superior science and coolness would give him the battle.

I am sorry to add that he did not think of the good resolutions he had made; or, if he did, he banished the thought as inconvenient and uncomfortable. He really believed that he had been deeply injured by the bully of the Institute, and if he did not regard it as a positive duty to obtain satisfaction, he at least felt that such a course was perfectly justifiable.

Nevers was the bully of the school. Weak and timid boys were obliged to submit to his insults. He had won the position of the "best man" in the school, and he employed his power in playing the tyrant. Richard felt that he must either whip him, or acknowledge him as his superior, and submit to his rule.

The element of pride also had a powerful influence upon his mind. Bailey had told him that Nevers could whip any fellow in the Institute; and it followed, of course, if he could master him, he should at once become the champion of the ring. Richard regarded this as a proud distinction, and he was quite willing to have a battered nose and a swelled face in the achievement of such an honor.

More than all this, Richard was animated by the generous sentiment that, in fighting and whipping the bully of the ring, he became the champion of the weak and the timid, who dared not resent the insolence of Nevers.

When he had washed his face and stopped the bleeding, he followed the course of the brook, till it emptied itself into the river, which was a small stream some four or five rods wide. He was attended by Bailey and two or three other boys, who had suddenly conceived a very great admiration for him. If he was not the victor in the fight, he had the advantage, and he had already partially entered upon the enjoyment of the honors which would be bestowed upon the conqueror of Nevers.

A short distance above the mouth of the brook, the river received the waters of the beautiful and picturesque Tunbrook Lake. The Institute grounds bordered upon it for some distance, and great was the satisfaction of Richard when he saw several boats, which his companions informed him belonged to the school. There was a large schooner-rigged sail boat, two twelve-oar race boats, besides three smaller craft. He felt at home here, and inquired particularly whether the boys were allowed to use these boats. They were only permitted to sail in company with some of the instructors.

The boys were exercised in rowing on Saturday afternoons, when the regular sessions of the school were suspended, and also upon the occasional holidays which were granted. The lake was seven miles long, by about two in breadth, so that there was abundant sea room. While they were examining the boats, and viewing the beautiful lake, the signal bell in the tower of the Institute school room sounded its warning peal, and summoned them to study and recitation.

"How does my face look, Bailey?"

"Not very bad."

"Do you think Gault will smell a mice when he hears my lessons?"

"I don't see why he should."

"I guess I can stave him off if he does," added Richard, confidently. "Didn't you see me tumble down when that fellow chased me?"

"What fellow?" asked Bailey.

"Any fellow you please," replied Richard, with a knowing smile.

"I didn't see any fellow chase you," added Bailey, innocently.

"Can't you see through a millstone when there is a hole in it?"

"Of course I can."

"Don't you see what I mean?"

"No, I don't."

"If Gault asks me how I hurt my face, I will tell him a fellow was chasing me, and I tumbled down. Of course all the rest of you saw it."

"But I don't see it," persisted Bailey.

"Don't you, indeed! Then I think you ought to have a pair of leather spectacles."

"O, I know what you mean, but I don't believe in lying about it."

"Ah, then you are a military saint—are you?" said Richard, with a sneer.

"All but the saint," laughed Bailey. "I don't think there is any use in lying about it."

"Then I suppose you think it was very wicked of me to fight with Nevers."

"No, I don't," answered Bailey, promptly and decidedly. "Nevers is a bully, and he insulted you. My father always told me never to take an insult, but he would thrash me for telling a lie."

"Well, Bailey, I believe you are right. I think it is mean to tell a lie; but how shall I manage it?"

"Face the music. A fellow who can stand such a pounding as you have had, wouldn't mind being punished."

"I don't like to be punished."

"I don't know as the colonel would punish you. If a fellow gets up a fight, he has to take it; but if he only defends himself, he says he does no more than his duty."

"Well, who got up this fight?"

"That's the point. Nevers insulted you, and you pitched into him. I don't know which is most to blame."

"We will leave it to the powers that be, and not bother our heads about the question. I won't lie about it, any how."

By the time this point was settled the boys had reached the school room. Richard applied himself with zeal and patience to the labors of the afternoon, determined to do his whole duty. When called out to recite, Mr. Gault noticed the swelling upon his face, and at recess asked him what had caused it.

"It was done in a little affair out in the grove sir," replied Richard.

"What kind of an affair?"

"Nevers and I had a little set-to," said Richard.

"Rather rough play, I should think," added Mr. Gault, as he struck the bell for the work to be resumed.

Richard congratulated himself that he had escaped, and, as he thought, without telling a lie. He told none with his lips, but his manner was such as to assure the teacher that the affair in the grove had been nothing but friendly sport. Deception, or wilfully misleading another, for the accomplishment of a purpose, is, in our opinion, just as culpable a falsehood as gaining the same end by a lie expressed in words. But Richard had not come up to this standard.

At the close of the school session, Richard hastened to the grove, as did all the boys who were in the secret of the fight. Nevers was on the ground soon after him, and the arrangements for the fight were hastily completed. A line of scouts reaching from the parade ground to the grove was stationed at convenient distances to give warning of the approach of any of the teachers. The ring was formed, and Richard coolly divested himself of all superfluous clothing, and prepared with the utmost care for the desperate encounter.

Nevers was ready sooner than Richard, for he was not so precise in the arrangement of his garments. As he took his place in the ring, though he stood strong and defiant, there was a kind of nervousness in his manner, which might have been detected by a keen observer.

"Come, Grant, we shall not get to work to-day, if you don't hurry up," said Nevers, his lip curling into a sneer.

But it was the bully in him that spoke. He had a reputation to sustain, and he was saying and doing all he could to ward off any imputation upon his courage.

"In one moment, Nevers," added Richard.

"You are as particular as though you were going to a ball," continued Nevers.

"I suppose you are too much of a man to bawl, whatever happens; so there won't be any," replied Richard.

"We shall have the colonel and all the teachers down upon us, if you don't get fixed soon."

"I'm all ready," said Richard, throwing himself into the attitude of the pugilist.

"Come on, then."

Richard edged up to his antagonist, and after considerable sparring, the fight commenced in good earnest. Nevers was too much excited to use all his strength to the best advantage, for the first hit he received seemed to make him angry. In the first round Richard had the advantage. In the second, Nevers knocked him down; but he was not at all disconcerted. The heavy blows he received did not appear to disturb his equanimity, while his opponent worked himself up into a towering passion. The fight went on for ten minutes with varying results. At one time all the spectators were sure that Nevers would win, and at another they were equally sure that Grant would be the victor.

The anger of Nevers exhausted him more than his tremendous efforts. Both parties had been terribly punished, but Richard was still cool and self-possessed. At last Nevers became desperate, and rushed upon his foe, determined at one effort to crush him. He was furious, and abandoned all the science he had brought to his aid, and apparently depended entirely upon brute force. The consequence was, that he laid himself open to his cool rival, and Richard rained a series of tremendous blows upon his head, which carried him under. He fell heavily upon the ground, and lay there incapable of moving.

Richard, though his nose was bleeding, and he could not see out of one eye, seated himself on the ground for a moment, till he had recovered his breath, and then took his place in the ring.

"Time!" cried the friends of Richard.

But Nevers could not "come to time." He raised himself partly up, but sank back again, incapable of making the effort to rise.

"Come on!" said Richard, as he sparred a little with his fists to assure the spectators that he was "game" to the last.

Nevers made no reply, and Richard was declared the victor by his own friends, and the proposition was admitted by those of his prostrate antagonist.

"I am satisfied," added Richard, as he picked up his clothes, and made his way down to the brook, attended by an admiring crowd.

When Nevers recovered his breath, he rose from the ground, and his companions helped him down to the water, where he was bathed by his sympathizing friends. Both of the combatants were severely though not seriously injured.

"What's to be done now, fellows?" asked Richard, when all that cold water could do for him had been done. "I suppose we are all in a bad scrape."

"That's so," replied several. "We will stand by you, Grant, as well as we can."

"I am not exactly in condition to appear at dress parade," added Richard, turning his head round, so as to bring his available eye to bear upon his companions.

"You are better off than Nevers, who is first sergeant of Company D."

"Can't we keep out of sight till we get our eyes open, as little kittens do?"

"Roll call before dress parade," suggested Bailey.

"Can't some fellow answer for me? I will spend the night in the cabin of the sail boat on the lake. It won't be the first time I've slept in a boat."

"That won't do. Better face the music, Grant."

"But I shall be punished for this affair. I don't——"

"Colonel Brockridge is coming!" was the word passed down the line of scouts, interrupting Richard's remarks on the subject of punishment.

"What shall I do?"

"Don't do any thing, Grant," said Bailey. "You are sure to be found out, whatever you do. If you run away, it will be all the worse for you."

Richard, after a moment's reflection, was of the same opinion, and he decided to take the consequences, whatever they might be.

"What does all this mean?" demanded the colonel, sternly, when he saw the swelled face of Richard.

"Been a fight, sir," replied several of the boys.

"Between whom?"

"Nevers and Grant."

"Nevers and Grant will report forthwith in my office," said the principal, as he walked back to the Institute.



CHAPTER XIII.

RICHARD LISTENS TO A HOMILY ON FIGHTING, AND SPENDS THE NIGHT IN THE GUARD HOUSE.

Richard, in obedience to the order of the principal, immediately repaired to the office, where he was soon joined by Nevers, both of them very much the worse for the encounter.

"You have been fighting—have you, young gentlemen?" demanded Colonel Brockridge, as he entered the room.

"Yes, sir," replied both of the culprits, in the same breath.

"You know the rules of the Institute, Nevers," added the principal, sternly.

"I do, sir; but I was struck, and was obliged to fight in self-defence."

"And you, Grant, had common sense enough to know better than to engage in a fight. You struck the first blow—did you?"

"I struck the first blow that was given with the fist, but Nevers struck the heaviest blow with his tongue."

"Explain, Grant."

"At breakfast I was informed by Nevers that they found out what boys were made of on drill."

"Did you make use of this remark, Nevers?" asked the principal.

"I did, sir."

"What did you mean by it?"

"Simply that we found out something about a boy's capacity."

"Ah, indeed!" added Colonel Brockridge, in a slightly satirical tone. "What did you understand by the remark, Grant?"

"That a fellow who hadn't spunk enough to protect himself must submit to be insulted, and to be bullied by those who were wiser than he in military matters."

"I did not mean that, sir," protested Nevers.

"His looks and his tone indicated it," said Richard. "And when he was directed to instruct me in the positions, his tone and manner were haughty and domineering. I so understood it, sir; if I am wrong, I am willing to apologize. In the course of the drill he called me a dough-head."

"Is this true, Nevers?"

"It is; but I did not call him so till I was satisfied he did not mean to observe the order. In teaching him the facings, he would not come about till all the others had finished the movement."

"I wouldn't, if I had been in his place," added the colonel, very much to the astonishment of Richard, and very much to the indignation of Nevers. "You know very well that one boy is never permitted in this school to domineer over another. You took pains beforehand to inform Grant, by your words, and especially by your looks and actions, that you meant to haze him, to bully him. As a decent boy, he could not submit to it. Then you called him a dough-head; which, as Grant suggests, was the heaviest blow that was struck, for it touches a spot which the fist cannot reach. Nevers, you commenced the fight."

"I think not, sir."

"We don't argue the matter, sir," said the colonel, sharply. "One thing more: no pupil is allowed to use ungentlemanly language to another pupil. Obedience to officers who are merely students is purely voluntary. If a boy refuses to obey the officers, he must leave the company. No boy is compelled to go into the ranks. On drill the case is still stronger, Nevers. If the recruit will not obey, it is the duty of the drill officer to report him to the instructor. If you had done so, it would have been Mr. Gault's duty to drill Grant himself."

Nevers made no reply to these remarks. He cast a savage glance at Richard, who appeared to have conquered him in the forum as well as in the field.

"Grant, you are also to blame," continued the principal. "We will not permit you to be insulted, bullied, or domineered over. I will protect you, but you must not take the law into your own hands. A blow is not justifiable except in self-defence, or when all other means have failed. You knew it was wrong to strike Nevers."

"I did not think so, at the time, sir," replied Richard. "What you have said has changed my view of the matter."

Nevers sneered at this remark of his antagonist, and Richard saw and felt that sneer. It was as much as to say that he, Richard, was making his peace with the principal by pretending a penitence he did not feel. It stung him where he was very sensitive, and he was angry.

While his wrath was boiling, and he was considering in what manner he should punish his crestfallen rival for his savage look and his bitter sneer, the parting admonition of Bertha came to his mind, with the promise that he had made to obey the rules of the school. This suggested his big resolutions to reform his life and character. A brutal fight on the first day of his residence at Tunbrook was not exactly redeeming his solemn promise to his sister; nor was the conquest of Nevers a step towards the conquest of himself.

Yet, in spite of his promise, and in spite of his resolutions, he could not believe that he had been altogether in the wrong. He thought Colonel Brockridge's views of the case were very sensible: and while he wished he had not been so hasty in hitting Nevers, he felt, as the principal had suggested, that his conduct was greatly palliated by the provocation he had received.

Nevers cast looks of hatred and contempt at him, which stirred his blood deeper than even the words of insults he had received. He came to the conclusion that the bully had not got enough yet, and impulsively he determined to give him some more at the first convenient opportunity. But when he thought of the promise he had made to Bertha, when he thought of his resolution to conquer himself, he struggled with the temptation, and finally had the strength to say to the malignant demon of hatred and revenge, "Get thee behind me, Satan." The victory was won; the heart of Richard was at peace; he had actually conquered himself this time.

"You have both done wrong," said the principal, after a few moments' consideration, during which time Richard had won a greater and nobler victory than that he had gained in the grove.

"I am sorry for it," said Richard, and it was almost the first time in his life that he had acknowledged himself in the wrong.

Nevers cast a look full of contempt at him when he uttered these words; but Richard, under the influence of the good angel which had taken possession of his soul, did not permit the look to ruffle him.

"I will do right, and feel right, this time, if I never did before," said he to himself.

"Nevers," added the principal, "your warrant as orderly sergeant is withdrawn; you are reduced to the ranks. You can go, now. Remove those stripes from your arms."

The sentence was a heavy blow to the bully. For a year he had been trying to obtain promotion. He wanted a commission. The company officers were elected from the sergeants, and he was confident that he should be chosen captain of Company D at the next election. He had been a sergeant for a year and a half, and would have been a captain if he had not been a bully; for there were enough who disliked him on this account to prevent his election. As the first sergeant of the company, he was almost sure that he should be chosen the next time. But his sentence removed all hope of such preferment.

"Grant, I believe you are sincerely sorry for what has happened; but you have done wrong, and you must be punished."

Richard's anger rose at these words, and he was disposed to resent the idea of being punished for what he had done, especially after the judge had ruled so decidedly in his favor.

"I shall order you to be placed under arrest, and to spend the night in the guard house. You will report to me at dress parade. You can go."

The culprit's lips were compressed, and his teeth were tightly closed. He was angry, for he had expected to be fully justified before the boys for his conduct. An impudent remark trembled on the end of his tongue, but the memory of the conquest he had achieved over himself prevented him from uttering it.

"I have done wrong, and I have owned that I was in the wrong. I will submit," said Richard to himself, as he left the office.

When he went out upon the play ground, he found the boys assembled in groups discussing the exciting event of the day. They gathered around him to learn the result of the trial.

"Nevers has lost his office, and I am under arrest, to spend the night in the guard house," replied Richard, in answer to their inquiries.

"You got off easy," said Bailey.

"I suppose I did; at any rate, I am satisfied."

"Nevers has lost his warrant," exclaimed the boys, who were particularly technical in speaking of military events. "Let's give three cheers."

"Don't do it," said Richard. "It's a hard case for him."

"I am glad of it. The bully is down," added one."

"You licked him well," said another.

"I am sorry I did," replied Richard. "I didn't understand the matter so well then as I do now. Colonel Brockridge is a trump!"

If any of Richard's friends at Woodville had heard this remark, they would have been ready to canonize him at once, for it was so utterly at variance with his style, that his acquaintances would not have recognized it as coming from him. But Richard was engaged in the conquest of himself, and had won two or three important victories.

The early call for dress parade sounded, and the boys all hasted to the armories to prepare for it. As Richard had no uniform yet, he was excused from serving, and reported himself to the colonel, as he had been ordered. When the parade was finished, the principal delivered a homily on fighting, stating the facts connected with the combat of that day, and commenting upon them. He condemned fighting in round terms, declaring it was never necessary, except in self-defence. The civil and the social law would protect every member of the community, and there could be no need of resorting to the barbarous custom of settling differences by single combat. He applied the principles he laid down to the case before him so clearly, that Richard lost much of his admiration of the "noble art of self-defence"—as pugilists stupidly style the act of fighting, to ascertain who is the better man.

Lest our boy friends should not fully understand us, we must add, that the colonel's views are ours. A boy ought to fight in self-defence; never to find out which is "the better man." He should use no more violence than is necessary to defend himself. A boy is bound to protect his weak friend—not from words, but from blows—to the best of his ability, by using blows, when they are necessary. We can excuse, but we cannot justify, the boy who strikes another for insulting his mother or his sister. We believe in a "kiss for a blow," but we also believe that cannon are often the best peacemakers. "Blessed are the peacemakers," but he who permits himself to be unjustly scourged is more truly a fomenter of strife than he who conquers a peace in a good cause by the might of his strong arm.

At the conclusion of his remarks, Colonel Brockridge ordered Richard to be conducted to the guard house, where he was to spend the night. Mr. Gault was directed to see the order executed, and the culprit was marched to the apartment which served as a place of confinement for offenders. He submitted to the punishment with the best grace he could command, but he was mortified and humiliated.

The guard house was a bugbear to the boys of the Institute. It was a small room, with the mockery of iron bars at the window, placed there more for effect than for any thing else. It contained a bed and a stool, with no other furniture. But it was regarded as a terrible place by the boys; not that it was a very great hardship to spend a night there, but because of the disgrace which the popular sentiment of the establishment had attached to the prison.

Richard entered, and the door was locked upon him. The room was dark, but he was not permitted to have a light. He seated himself upon the stool, and it was literally the stool of repentance to him. His supper was brought to him, and the servant stood by with a lamp till he had eaten it. He was then left alone for the night, to meditate upon the folly and wickedness of engaging in a fight without justifiable cause.

One of the first questions which the hero of the fight asked himself was, whether he had not too tamely submitted to the authority which had humiliated and punished him. That he had done so was the most surprising thing he had ever known himself to do. And when he came to ask himself why he had submitted, he could very clearly trace the reason to the good resolution he had made to reform his life and character—to conquer himself. It was hard for him to give in, but he was satisfied with himself, and began to feel that he had really made some progress in the great work.

He wanted to write a letter to Bertha, and tell her all about the events of the day—how patiently he had submitted to reproof and punishment; and record his solemn determination to conquer himself. He had no light, and no materials for writing; so, at an early hour, he went to bed; and fatigued with the labors and excitement of the day, he forgot in sleep that he was a prisoner.

At reveille, in the morning, he was discharged from arrest, and ordered to report for duty in the school room. He was still strong in his good resolutions, and the sneers and frowns of Nevers and his clique did not disturb him—did not even tempt him to indulge in the cheap retaliation of sneers and frowns in return.

In the course of the day Richard found that he was a lion. He had thrashed the bully of the school, and won the enviable position of champion of the Institute. But even this glory did not seem to be worth much; for since the fight, he realized that he had whipped a bigger fellow than Nevers.

For a week, in school and out, Richard was true to himself, and behaved nobly. More times than we have room to record, during this period, he got the better of his ever-familiar foe, and every new victory improved his morale and added to his prestige.

At this point in his school career, the students were ordered to perform the usual round of camp duty; and at eight o'clock in the morning, the battalion took up the line of march for the appointed place, at the other end of Tunbrook Lake, distant ten miles by the road.



CHAPTER XIV.

RICHARD DOES GUARD DUTY, AND IS CAPTURED BY AN ENEMY.

Camping out was a great event at Tunbrook, and the students looked forward to it with pleasant anticipations for weeks. The principal was shrewd in his policy, and no one knew when it would take place till it was announced, only a day or two before the march. By this plan he prevented any diversion of the thoughts from the lessons. Neither did the boys know where they were going when they started. They obeyed the orders which were given from time to time, and even when they halted for the night and pitched their tents, they could not find out whether they had reached the end of the march or not. The colonel told them that soldiers should be taught to obey orders, and cured of all propensity to ask questions.

The tour of camp duty for the summer term had been almost a continuous march; and during the campaign of ten days, they had travelled over a hundred miles. Colonel Brockridge was an earnest believer in the necessity of physical development in boys. He was of the opinion that they could stand almost every thing, if they were regularly and systematically inured to hardship. Weak papas and tender mammas raised their hands with horror at the idea of having their Johnny sleep on the ground in a tent, and stick to the camp whether it was fair weather or foul; but the colonel could adduce hundreds of instances where boys of puny constitutions had become strong and vigorous under this treatment.

He believed that more boys had been spoiled by being "babied" than ever had been injured in the slightest degree by hardship—if military duty, as it was performed at Tunbrook, could be called hardship. It was very certain that the boys enjoyed camping out; and if a few of them sneezed or coughed after their return, these were not regarded as fatal symptoms.

Richard was in his element when the school was put upon its muscle. Though nothing but a private in Company D, and subject to the orders of his inferiors in body and mind, he performed his duty cheerfully, and enjoyed it very much. After Nevers had been cured of his folly, there was not another boy in the establishment who had the hardihood or the desire to impose upon him.

Every thing was done with military order and precision on the morning that the battalion marched from the Institute. Though the reader knows where they were going, not an officer or a private had a suspicion of their destination; and none but a few of the new comers asked the question, or appeared to care. In front of the battalion was the band, and behind it came the wagons containing the tents, baggage, and pontoon train. The principal and the instructors were scattered along the line, where they could superintend the operations of the column.

Major Morgan, in command of the battalion, had evidently received instructions for a portion of the day; for, without any direction from the teachers, he led his command over the road to the grove, and in fifteen minutes after they started, the order to halt was given. The battalion stood rigid as a stake where they were ordered, and presently the engineer corps was detached for duty. The pontoon wagon was brought up, and unloaded by the side of the river. The boats, which were of rubber, were inflated, and the business of building a bridge across the stream was commenced.

Every thing was so nicely prepared that the work was accomplished in an incredibly short space of time. The battalion, followed by its wagons, crossed the pontoon bridge, the boats and the planks were taken up and loaded upon the wagon again, and the troops were ready to march. Neither Colonel Brockridge nor any of the instructors had spoken a word during these operations, for the engineers had been thoroughly trained in their difficult duty.

For an hour the battalion marched without stopping. The orders "shoulder arms," "support arms," "right shoulder shift" relieved them occasionally; but some legs began to ache before a halt was permitted. During the next hour they marched most of the way with the "route step." At twelve o'clock they halted for dinner and an hour's rest. The haversacks of the soldiers had been filled with crackers and cold ham, and they had a jolly dinner in a grove where they stopped.

About four o'clock in the afternoon, they reached the upper end of the lake, and the orders necessary for forming a camp were given. The tents were pitched, the boundaries of the camp marked out, and a detail for guard duty was made from each company. Every thing proceeded precisely as it would if they had been old soldiers, and engaged in the actual business of war.

Richard was one of those who had been detailed from Company D, for guard duty. The camp ground was a large, open plain, bordering on one side upon a dense forest. The night was dark and dismal, and at nine o'clock Richard found himself walking his lonely beat, on the verge of the forest. There was a novelty about the situation that was very attractive to him, and as he walked his solitary round, he actually enjoyed it. It was not to all probable that an enemy, or even a straggler, would disturb the quiet of the scene by attempting to pass the line; but though the guard had been commanded to be vigilant, he had abundant time and opportunity for reflection and castle-building.

Our sentinel had imbibed much of the spirit of the soldier, from the martial exercise to which he had been trained, and he indulged in some pretty visions of military glory. They were very pleasant and very alluring at that time, when the country was enjoying profound peace. Even the politicians, who were compromising with difficulties, present and future, never dreamed that the war blast would sound through the land in their day and generation, and were unbelievers in the dire prophecies which they uttered. While Richard's fancy led him to scenes of blood and glory on the battle field, he little thought that an opportunity would so soon be presented for the practical application of his military knowledge, and for the indulgence of his military ambition.

While he was dreaming of war and glory, while in imagination he was leading battalions of brave men to battle and victory, his reflections were disturbed by the approach of a squad of boys. It was so dark that he did not see them till they were within a few rods of him. It was evident that they had left the tents by stealth, and must have crept some portion of the way on the ground to escape observation. When they came near enough to be challenged, the guard called out,—

"Who comes there?"

"Friends," replied one of the party.

"Advance, one friend, and give the countersign."

One of them stepped forward, and Richard held him at bay with his bayonet, according to military custom.

"I declare, I have forgotten the countersign," said he.

"Then I will call the corporal of the guard."

"No; hold on a minute. I shall think of it in a moment."

Richard was willing to give him a fair chance, as there was no enemy in the vicinity who could possibly intend to capture the battalion. But while he was waiting, the fellow suddenly grasped his musket, and attempted to wrest it from his hands. But this was a game at which two could play as well as one; and Richard, instead of giving the alarm, as he should have done, threw himself upon his muscle, and attempted to beat off his assailants.

The rest of the party immediately came to the assistance of the fellow, and, after a short but sharp struggle, the sentinel was overpowered, and his gun taken from him. At the conclusion of the struggle Richard found himself upon his back, on the ground, held down by the whole squad of boys, or as many as could get hold of him. One of them held a handkerchief over his mouth, so that he could not give the alarm, now that he found it necessary to do so.

Richard supposed this rough treatment could be nothing more than a practical joke—one of those tricks played off upon raw recruits, to teach them the necessity of vigilance, and a nice observance of the rules of the service. When he was overpowered, therefore, he submitted to his fate, whatever it might prove to be, hoping his captors would relax their hold upon him just long enough to enable him to turn the tables upon them; for he was vain enough to believe that he could whip the whole dozen of them, if he could only have fair play.

"Let him up, now, and we will tie his hands behind him," said one of the party, in a feigned voice, to prevent the victim from recognizing the speaker.

"But he will halloo, if we let him up," replied the one who had answered his challenge, and whose voice Richard could not identify.

"I'll stop his mouth, if he hallooes," added the first speaker. "I'll hit him over the head with the butt of his musket."

"No, no," said the other; "you'll kill him. We don't want to injure him."

"I do; I wouldn't mind cracking his skull for him."

"No, no; we shall get into trouble ourselves if we do any thing of that kind."

Richard thought they would any way, as soon as he could obtain the use of his arms. He felt so well qualified to take care of himself that he would have been willing to give his bond not to halloo, or call any one to his assistance, though he could not help wondering that the sentinels whose beats were next to his own, did not arrive at the scene of operations. It was evident to him that they were asleep on their posts, or that they were accomplices of the conspirators.

"Now, get up," said the speaker, who used the disguised voice.

Richard promptly obeyed this order, and though several of the boys held on to him as he rose, a terrible struggle ensued, in which the captured sentinel almost made good his mental boast; but they were too many for him, and his hands were tied behind him with a knapsack strap, in spite of his best exertions to shake them off.

"I told you he would be a hard customer," said one, who had not before spoken.

"Shut up, you ninny! You'll blow the whole of us. No fellow is to speak but—you know whom," said he with the assumed voice.

Richard tried to obtain, in the thick darkness that shrouded them, some clew which would enable him to identify the ruffians; but he could not make out any thing peculiar in their form or motions to guide him, and he was equally at fault in regard to the voices. He stood quiet when he found that resistance was useless; but he determined to keep a sharp lookout for an opportunity to release himself from his mortifying situation.

"Now, you——"

"My name is Dobbin," added the false voice.

Richard did not remember any such name, though he had heard the roll called in all the companies, and he concluded that it was a "blind," to deceive him.

"Now, Dobbin, take him off, and we will settle the case in the woods."

"Lead the way, Kennedy, and we will follow; but be careful and not make a noise."

"Hush!" said Dobbin; "somebody is coming."

"Grand rounds!" added Kennedy. "Hurry him off as quick as you can. Stuff a handkerchief in his mouth; choke him if he attempts to cry out."

"But they will miss him," suggested Dobbin, "and then there will be a row and a search."

"Off with him! Off with him! We shall all get caught," whispered Kennedy. "I will take his gun, and keep guard."

Richard was literally dragged from the spot, and the fellow who called himself Kennedy—though that was not his name—took the musket of the defeated sentinel, and began to travel his beat as regularly as though he had been duly detailed.

"Who comes there?" demanded he, as the officer of the day, attended by a sergeant and two men, approached his beat.

"Grand rounds," replied the sergeant.

"Halt, grand rounds! Advance, sergeant, with the countersign."

The sergeant advanced to give the countersign, without discovering that he had been challenged by the wrong man.

"Bennington" said the sergeant, giving the word appointed for the night.

"Advance, rounds!" added Kennedy, as he placed himself in the proper position.

The officer of the day passed on with his attendants, and as soon as the ceremony had been repeated with the next sentinel, Kennedy threw the musket upon the ground, and followed his companions into the forest. Taking a road which led into the wood, he soon overtook the rest of the party.

Richard was very curious to find out what his captors intended to do with him; for he could not even yet believe that any thing more serious than a practical joke was intended. He was not conscious that he had an enemy in the battalion, with the exception of Nevers, who, though he had bestowed a great many sneers and looks of hatred upon him during the week that had elapsed since the fight, had betrayed no intention to seek revenge for his defeat in fair fight. He knew that Nevers hated him, but he could not believe that he would resort to such underhand measures as the conspirators had adopted.

"What are you going to do?" asked he, after Kennedy had joined them.

"Shut up! You will find out soon enough."

Richard tried to open a conversation with them, but they were too wary to talk, and no one spoke except Dobbin and Kennedy. They conducted their prisoner half a mile, as he judged, from the camp, when they halted, and fastened Richard to a tree, seating themselves upon logs and stumps. The captive waited impatiently for the proceedings to commence.



CHAPTER XV.

RICHARD FINDS HIMSELF IN THE HANDS OF THE REGULATORS.

"Come, fellows, we have no time to spare," said Kennedy, when the party were seated, and Richard fastened to the tree. "We must finish this business at once."