show of force than is generally considered necessary for the accomplishment or an amicable bargain. Having got him in, he shut the door and put his back against it.

'What do you want with me? Let me go,' cried Sillison, trying to get out, for, poor fellow, he had had a great deal of experience of bullying, and this looked very like it.

'Wait a moment,' said Rawlett. 'Don't be alarmed though, Silly; we're not going to murder you. Look here, you wanted to buy Hazelwood's knife ?"

'I don't care about it now. I bought a new knife yesterday afternoon.'

"You little cheat, you must stick to your bargains. Mustn't he, Hazelwood?'

'Of course.

I wish you would buy it, Sillison.' 'But I don't want to,' whined Sillison.

'Stuff and nonsense!' said Rawlett, seizing him by the arm. 'Catch hold of him, Horace. Now, will you take the knife, or will you not?'

'Very well,' said Sillison, frightened. Let me go, and I'll give you the shilling.'

'Shilling!' exclaimed Rawlett.

'The knife is worth eighteenpence, at least. Hold your tongue; let me manage him,' he added in an undertone to Horace, whose conscience began to be pricked at this tyrannical way of making a bargain.

I won't give eighteenpence.' 'You won't, won't you? Well-then-I'll—giveyou-eighteen-bumps,' said Rawlett, bumping Sillison violently against the wall at every word.

'Oh, Rawlett, please don't. I'll give you eighteenpence-anything you like. Oh, my head!' Sillison gave a scream, and burst out crying, declaring that Rawlett had knocked his head against the wall.

'Now, don't make such a row, you baby,' said Rawlett, loosing him. Do you hear me? Shut up, or I'll bump you again.'

No, no; leave him alone,' said Horace. Come,

Sillison, you'll give me eighteenpence for the knife, won't you? It's worth it.'

'Yes,' sobbed Sillison, taking the eighteenpence from his pocket. Keep the knife; I don't want it,' he said sulkily.

'Do you hear that, Hazelwood? He wants to make you a present of eighteenpence for nothing. It's really very good of him.'

No, no; take the knife,' said Horace, hastily thrusting it into Sillison's hand.

Horace could not help being troubled by great doubts as to whether this style of bargaining were very fair, or whether rather it were not gross bullying; but he tried to stifle such thoughts by telling himself that Sillison had lots of money, and wouldn't miss eighteenpence; that he had made a bargain, and ought to stick to it; that the knife was worth eighteenpence, and so forth. At all events, he had got the money, and after school he lost no time in going off to Mrs MacPherson to pay his debt. She received his money with a grim smile, and said

My advice to you, laddie, is: take care not to get into debt, if you want to keep free from a sore heart. I saw fine how ill-pleased you were when I asked for my money this morning. But poor folks must live, you know.'

Now that his debt was paid, Horace felt more easy in his mind, and made good resolutions without end. He was for the future to learn his lessons honestly and well; never to attempt to deceive his masters; to avoid Rawlett, and to be kinder to Harry. But oh! it is no little thing once to enter into the path of evil. The lesson of sin is easy to learn, but terribly difficult to unlearn. How many miserable wretches there are who have spent their lives in sinning against God and man, who are branded as outcasts, and again and again condemned as felons! The dark places of our cities-for in the most lovely of our cities there are dark places abounding with sin and misery—are full of such unhappy creatures, many

of whom will tell you with tears that their ruin began with little things. They were happy and honest once; and, one temptation manfully resisted, one trouble courageously faced, they might have remained so still. And many a boy who has wrung his father's heart, and made his mother to shed for him bitter tears, might have been a good, dutiful son, of whom they could be proud and joyful, if, when a boy, he had not yielded to sin in some little thing. Believe me in this, boys, there is nothing more dangerous than little things.

CHAPTER IX.

THE RESULTS OF LITTLE THINGS.

'HORACE,' said Harry that evening while they were undressing to go to bed, 'what did Mr Whitson mean about that knife ?'

'What knife-what do you mean, Harry?' said Horace sharply.

'Why, he asked me if you had given me back my knife yet, and said he wouldn't have taken it if he had known it was mine.'

Horace's face grew crimson. 'What did you say to him ?'

'I said I had lost my knife a fortnight ago, and wouldn't have any money to buy another till Christmas time.'

'You little fool!' burst out Horace, and would have said more angry words, but that Harry's astonished face checked him.

· And what did he say?'

'He said it was very strange, and that he must have misunderstood you. He said he would speak to you

about it to-morrow.

What did he mean?'

'Oh, never mind. He has made a mistake,' said Horace, trying to look unconcerned. And presently, telling Harry that he would be back directly, he slipped

out in his shirt and trousers, and ran along the passage to Rawlett's room.

Rawlett had a little room to himself; for Mr Dunning, knowing him to be a bad boy, thought it as well to let him have as little to do with the other boys as possible, and, indeed, was only watching for an opportunity of sending him away.

Horace tried the door, but could not open it. He then knocked; but at first there was no answer, though he could hear a noise inside the room, as if something was being hidden out of sight.

Horace knocked again, this time more sharply, for he was shivering with cold, and in his troubled state of mind he could not bear waiting. This time there was a tremendous yawn inside, and a voice cried out faintly— 'Who's there?'

'Me-Horace,' whispered Horace through the keyhole. Open the door, Rawlett.'

'Oh, it's you! Why didn't you say so before?' answered Rawlett; and opening the door let him in.

Master Rawlett had been reading a novel in bed, having previously taken the precaution to lock the door, and darken all chinks, to prevent the light shining through, in case of a visit of inspection from Mr Dunning; whence his alarm and confusion at Horace's knock.

'What's the matter? Why are you looking so disgusted ?'

Oh, Rawlett, you've got me into an awful scrape!' 'More likely you've got yourself into one, my dear fellow. But you must confess I've always managed to help you out of your scrapes till now; so let's hear it.'

Mr Whitson has been asking Harry about that knife, and Harry let out that it wasn't his knife, and Mr Whitson said he would speak to me about it to-morrow, and then it will be found out that I have been telling a lie. That will be horrible !'

'It certainly will be,' said Rawlett, who saw nothing horrible in telling a lie, but a great deal in being

'found out,' and punished. 'Whitson is a good-natured creature generally; but if he catches a fellow telling him lies, he gets into a tremendous wax. You'll get a most thundering licking, and be kept in every day for a week -if you are not sent up to the rector, indeed.'

Oh, Rawlett, what shall I do ?'

"Tisn't very easy to say,' answered Rawlett, racking his brains, nevertheless, for some plan; for he had a pretty good idea that in Horace got into a scrape about this, he himself would very likely have to share the punishment. Rawlett had no faith in disinterestedness; he judged every one by himself, and so he never doubted but that Horace, if detected, would try to clear himself as much as possible by throwing the blame upon him. He knew what he himself would have done in the same circumstances.

'I think you have a good chance of steering clear after all,' he said in a little. You see Whitson has a shocking bad memory-every fellow knows that. Now, if you could manage to stay away from school to-morrow, I'll bet anything that by next day he will have forgotten all about it.'

'But Mr Dunning won't let me kip,' said Horace.

(Some people may ask me what kip means; and to them I answer that the boys at the Edinburgh Academy say kip, when wise, learned people, who write stories for boys without knowing much about boys, say play truant.)

'I've kipped often,' replied Rawlett. I go and tell Mrs Dunning that I have a headache, or a sore throat, or something or that kind; then she tells Mr Dunning, and he says that I had better not go out. I play at home, and get jam at lunch.'

'I'll tell you what, Rawlett, I'm sick of telling lies, and I don't want to tell any more,' said Horace vehemently. Rawlett looked surprised at this sentiment; but as he had induced Horace to tell lies before, he had no doubt he would do it again, and so only said—