Orville College: A Story

The glowing sunset of a September evening was shining on the fair grounds around Orville College, lighting up the scene of stir and bustle invariably presented on the return of the boys to their studies after the periodical holidays. A large, comfortable-looking, and very irregular building was this college. But a moderate-sized house originally, it had been added to here, and enlarged there, and raised yonder, at different times as necessity required, and with regard to convenience only, not to uniformity of architecture. The whole was of red brick, save the little chapel jutting out at one end; that was of white brick, with black divisional strokes, as if the architect had a mind to make some distinction by way of reverence. The Head Master's house faced the lawn and the wide gravel carriage-drive that encircled it; the school apartments, ending in the chapel, were built on the house's left; the sleeping-rooms and domestic offices were on its right. It was only a private college—in fact, a school—founded many years ago by a Dr. Orville, and called after him; but it gradually became renowned in the world, and was now of the very first order of private colleges.
Situated near London, in the large and unoccupied tracts of land lying between the north and the west districts, when the college was first erected, nothing could be seen near it but green fields. It was in a degree isolated still, but time had wrought its natural changes; a few gentlemen's houses had grown up around, and a colony of small shops came with them. The latest improvement, or innovation, whichever you like to call it, had been a little brick railway station, and the rushing, thundering trains, which seemed to be always passing, would occasionally condescend to halt, and pick up or set down the Orville travellers. In want of a name, when the houses spoken of began to spring up, it had called itself Orville Green—which was as good a name for the little suburb as any other.
Dr. Brabazon, the head master, stood at the door to receive his coming guests. It had been more consistent possibly with the reserve and dignity of a head master, to have ensconced himself in a state-chair within the walls of his drawing-room or library, and given the boys a gracious bow as each introduced himself. Not so the doctor. He was the most simple-mannered man in the world—as these large-hearted and large-minded men are apt to be,—and he stood at the hall door, or went to it perpetually, with a hearty smile and outstretched hands for each fresh arrival. A portly, genial man he, of near sixty years, with an upright line of secret care on his brow that sat ill upon it, as if it had no business there.