know why—for days and days. It's foolish
to say days; for, to this very moment, I
can recall it, and I see it now. I knew,
without ever having seen her, that this
was Madonna's little true-love, Eleanor
Wilton.

We walked on in silence, Madonna amazed
and bewildered as though he had seen
a little spirit. In truth, she had passed us
almost like one. I don't remember that we
ever talked upon the subject. I did not
know how Madonna might receive it, and,
as I saw he was really very unhappy, I
thought it best to say nothing. He moped
about the school and playground, a totally
changed being, and so provoked Alf Bathurst
by his apathy, or, as Alf called it, sulkiness,
that the latter tyrannised over and worried
him in every possible manner. It was pitiable
and disgusting to see. O, if I had but been
two years older! I would—No matter.

One day, Alf struck Madonna a severe
blow in the face. The flush that followed it
did not subside, as was natural. Headache
and sickness followed; and the doctor, being
sent for, directed that Madonna should be
kept apart from the boys, and, if possible,
despatched home. This, with proper precautions,
was done, and we shortly after learned
that our schoolfellow was lying at home,
attacked with small-pox.

During his absence we saw but little of
our fair neighbours, and only heard
incidentally, that the little new girl, Eleanor
Wilton, was in rather delicate health, and
rarely went out with the rest of the school.
The poor little soul, however, seemed to be
no especial favourite of the savage old
governess, for we twice saw her in the
penetentiary!

At the end of two months, Madonna
returned to school, perfect in health; but O
my gracious, what a change! His beauty—
every bit of it, except his eyes—was gone;
his forehead seamed, his cheeks hollow, his
hair cut short. Poor old chap!

We all pitied him, and gave him a jolly
welcome, pretending not to see any alteration.
All but that bully, Alf Bathurst. The ill-natured
brute laughed, and made fun of him,
asking what mamma said now to our pretty
face? Who was to be his next love? &c.

"Look sharp, you beggar," he added, "and
bring me that ball" (flinging it to the other
end of the playground). "I'll see if you
have forgotten the use of your stumps,
anyhow."

"Stop," said Madonna, very pale. "I can't
run much yet; but, if you like, I'll show you
instead, a capital new game."

"Cut away, milksop! Is it one of nurse's
teaching? What a lot of asses' milk it will
take to make a man of you!" said Alf.

"Come here," said Madonna, addressing
the fellows generally. He walked into the
middle of the ground, Alf following. A
circle of boys collected round them.
Madonna turned up the cuff of his jacket, like
a conjuror.

"You see this?" he asked, showing Alf
his open palm.

"I do, you donkey!"

"Feel it too!" replied Madonna, and dealt
him a smack on the face you might have
heard at the end of the playground.

Bathurst staggered from the blow, and the
surprise; but, recovering himself, flew at
Madonna like a tiger. Several of us, however,
threw ourselves between them. A fight
wasn't to be wasted in that slovenly and
irregular manner; and it was clear that
Madonna's blood was up at last.

"You coward!" screamed Alf, over the
heads of the crowd, "will you fight?"

"With the greatest pleasure," replied
Madonna, politely—cool as a cucumber. "My
mother, sir, is very much of your opinion
as to the value of my beauty; and, having
now withdrawn her prohibition, my fine eyes
are at the service of your fists, provided you
can reach them. Yes, you coward, tyrant,
sneak, and bully!" cried the boy, growing
warmer, as he proceeded, with the recollection
of what he had endured, "I have a long
account to settle with you; and I'll make
your punishment remembered in the school
as long as Styles's stands!"

Tremendous cheering greeted this warlike
speech.

The fight was arranged to come off, after
the school rose at five. Preliminaries were
duly settled, seconds chosen (Ophelia and a
boy called the Tipton Slasher, from some
supposed resemblance to that distinguished
gentleman, for Alf; and Poppy Purcell and
Matilda Lyon for Madonna); the senior cock,
in the handsomest manner, volunteering his
services as referee, and this time the mill
came fairly off.

I suppose, said Master Balfour, with
great feeling, that a happier five and forty
minutes never fell to the lot of boys, than
those we now enjoyed. There we sat in a
wide circle, hugging our knees, sucking
brandy-balls, cheering, criticising, at the very
climax of human happiness.

The end, satisfactory as it was, came but
too quickly. Never was boy more beautifully
and scientifically whopped, than Alf
Bathurst. He wore a pulpier look, ever after
that polishing he got at the hands of the
despised Madonna.

It is believed in the school to this hour,
that Styles himself witnessed the fight. All
I know is, that the curtain of his window
was ostentatiously drawn, in a manner to
show that he wasn't there, of course; and
also, that a mysterious order reached the
kitchen, directing, without any assignable
reason, that tea, which was always served at
six, should be delayed twenty minutes.

If our suspicions were correct, Styles
calculated the time it would take to lick Alf
Bathurst, to a nicety; for, at ten minutes