CHAPTER TWO.
LAMB'S SINGING.
Wakefield's house, as Fisher minor entered it under his brother's wing, hardly seemed to the new boy as disreputable a haunt as his recent Modern friend had led him to expect.

Nor did the sixty or seventy fellows who clustered in the common room strike him as exactly the lowest stratum of Fellsgarth society.

Yorke, the captain, for instance, with his serene, well-cut face, his broad shoulders and impressive voice hardly answered to the description of a lout.

Nor did Ranger, of the long legs, with speed written in every inch of his athletic figure, and gentleman in every line of his face, look the sort of fellow to be mistaken for a cad.

Even Fisher major, about whom the younger brother had been made to feel decided qualms, could hardly have been the hail- fellow-well-met he was with everybody, had he been all the new boy's informant had recently described him.
Indeed, Fisher minor, when presently he gathered himself together sufficiently to look round him, was surprised to see so few traces of the "casual-ward" in his new house.