It's not a nice story, is it, you fellows ?" "Horrible!" said Lamb, starting at another walnut.
"Oh, do tell me!" cried Jim eagerly, "I'm so fond of stories;" and he settled himself back in his chair rather uneasily, and tried to look as if it was all good fun.
"Well, if you do want it I'll tell you; but don't blame me if it upsets you, that's all!" replied the irrepressible Fergus.
Jim looked as heroic as he could, and wished he had never asked to be enlightened on the subject of Bubbles.
Fergus refreshed himself with an orange, stuck his feet into the fender, and began in a solemn voice.
"I suppose, Jim Sparrow, if you have never heard about Bubbles, you really don't know the history of the school at all.

You don't even know how it came to be called Ferriby ?" "No," responded Jim, keeping his eyes on the fire.
"Ferriby is derived from two Anglo-Saxon words," proceeded Fergus, "which you may have heard--`fire' and `boy.' Now I'll tell you about Bubbles!" There was something very mysterious about the manner in which Fergus uttered these words, and we listened for what was to come almost as breathlessly as Jim Sparrow.
"It was early in this century," he said, "that a boy came to this school called Bubbles.

No one knew where he came from.

He had no parents, and never went home for the holidays.

He was about your age, Sparrow, and just your build, and he was in the Lower Fourth." "I'm going to be moved up this Christmas," interposed Jim hurriedly.
"Are you?
So was Bubbles going to be moved up when what I'm going to tell you happened!" It was getting dark, and for the last, few minutes all the light in the room had been caused by a jet of gas in the coals.