Fortitude

rom Peter

dear

beat me for them yesterday but he is nothing to father. I was top in the essay. I like football-I have a friend who is called Galion (I don't think that is the right way to spell it. He says that it is like a treasure-ship). He is a nice boy and Mrs. Trussit was his father's hous

oving

West

rom Stephe

Mr. P

ht have driven your old friends out of your head. I am no hand with a pen and it is taking me a time to write this so I will jus

ays, you

hen

because he knew that it would have hurt Stephen if he had told him the truth-and t

re every one was younger and weaker. During school hours there was comparative peace, and he sat with perplexed brow and inky fingers, or was sent down to the bottom for inattention. It was not inattention but rathe

place where lists commonly hung, saw another new boy and hailed him. This boy he had noticed before-he was shapeless of body, with big, round, good-tempered eyes, and he moved more slowly than any

football? I ought to have been playing ye

I'm going to look myse

forehead; he was very clean and he had beautiful hands. To Peter's rough and clumsy figure he seemed everything that a boy should be, and, in his mind, he had called him "Steerforth." As this boy approached there suddenly burst into view a discordant crowd with some one in their midst. They were shouting and laughing, and Peter

t all sense of place or time, of reason or sanity; he was wild with excitement, and the pent-up emotions of the last five days found magnificent overwhelming freedom. He did not know whether he were hit or no, once he was down and in an instant up again-once a face was close to his and he drove hard at the mouth-but he was small and his arms and legs were short. Indeed it would have gone badly with him had there not been heard, in all the roar of battle, the mystic whisper "Binns," and in an instant, as the snow flies before the sun, so had that gallant crowd disappeared. Only the small

at him and he

u've got pluck-my eye!

hands and wa

s your

stc

, you know. C-a-r-d-i-l-l-a-c. I'm in White's-wh

imson. "Thanks most awfully."

you after chapel."

ering where he might most unobtrusively wash when he was once more consc

sight. You'd bett

g of that only I didn't

got some cheek. Prester and Banks Mi, and all sorts of fellows were in

stc

's Ga

"I say, you didn't ever have a

of course I remember, w

Then it must be your f

He's most aw

ll, his mouth ope

gs! What doesn't life g