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Stephen, scarlet with shame, opened a book quickly with one weak hand and bent down upon it, his face close to the page. It was unfair and cruel because the doctor had told him not to read without glasses and he had written home to his father that morning to send him a new pair. And Father Arnall had said that he need not study till the new glasses came.

"It's only," said Miss Craydocke, reaching them a trifle out of breath, "this little parcel, something I promised to Prissy Hoskins, and would you just go round by the Cliff and leave it for me?" "Oh, I'm afraid of the Cliff!" cried Florrie Arnall. "Creggin's horses backed there the other day. It's horribly dangerous." "It's three quarters of a mile round," suggested the driver.

People who do dirty work must be paid for it; and the Secret Committee which inquired into Walpole's administration reported that in ten years, from 1731 to 1741, a sum of £50,077 18s. had been paid to writers and printers of newspapers. Arnall, now remembered chiefly by Pope's line, Spirit of Arnall, aid me whilst I lie! had received, in four years, £10,997 6s. 8d. of this amount.

Well, my little man, said the rector, what is it? Stephen swallowed down the thing in his throat and said: I broke my glasses, sir. The rector opened his mouth and said: O! Then he smiled and said: Well, if we broke our glasses we must write home for a new pair. I wrote home, sir, said Stephen, and Father Arnall said I am not to study till they come. Quite right! said the rector.

If authors had a turn for politics, Sir Robert Walpole was an excellent paymaster. Arnall, who was bred an attorney, is stated to have been paid £11,000 in four years by the Government for his pamphlets. 'Come, then, I'll comply. Spirit of Arnall, aid me while I lie!

Linceford's nerves, and the vague idea of almost an accident having occurred there lately which pervaded the little party. "Creggin's horses had backed," as Florrie Arnall said; and already the new comers had picked up, they scarcely knew how, the incipient tradition, hereafter to grow into an established horror of the "Cliff."

There was no noise on the playgrounds. The class must be doing the themes or perhaps Father Arnall was reading out of the book. It was queer that they had not given him any medicine. Perhaps Brother Michael would bring it back when he came. They said you got stinking stuff to drink when you were in the infirmary. But he felt better now than before. It would be nice getting better slowly.

Hoho! he cried. Who is this boy? Why is he on his knees? What is your name, boy? Fleming, sir. Hoho, Fleming! An idler of course. I can see it in your eye. Why is he on his knees, Father Arnall? He wrote a bad Latin theme, Father Arnall said, and he missed all the questions in grammar. Of course he did! cried the prefect of studies, of course he did! A born idler!

It was cruel and unfair to make him kneel in the middle of the class then: and Father Arnall had told them both that they might return to their places without making any difference between them. He listened to Father Arnall's low and gentle voice as he corrected the themes. Perhaps he was sorry now and wanted to be decent. But it was unfair and cruel.

Father Arnall knew more than Dante because he was a priest but both his father and uncle Charles said that Dante was a clever woman and a well-read woman. And when Dante made that noise after dinner and then put up her hand to her mouth: that was heartburn. A voice cried far out on the playground: All in! Then other voices cried from the lower and third lines: All in! All in!