Give the little chaps a chance." This was dear old Ponty's last will and testament.

Templeton looked back upon him after he had gone, as an easy-going, good-natured, let- alone, loveable fellow; but it didn't know all of what it owed him.
The examinations came at length.

The new boys having been the last to come, were naturally the first to be examined; and once more the portraits in the long hall looked down upon Basil Richardson and Georgie Heathcote, gnawing at the ends of their pens, and gazing at the ceiling for an inspiration.
It was rather a sad spectacle for those portraits.

Possibly they barely recognised in the reckless, jaunty, fair boy, and his baffled, almost wrathful companion, the Heathcote and Richardson who four months ago had sat there, fresh, and simple, and rosy, with the world of Templeton before them.
It had not been a good term for either.

Thank heaven, as they sat there, they had honesty enough left to know it, and hope enough left to feel there might still be a chance.