The flag was very much stained, and had scarcely any of the original pattern remaining; but, none the less, the boys were prouder of that flag than any other decoration in the school.
Just as Paul came in sight of it flying from the turret, a timid voice sounded in his ear:
"Is that Garside, please?"
Paul, looking down at the speaker, saw a weak-looking, wizen-faced boy, with pale, thin cheeks, and one shoulder slightly higher than the other. In a word, he was a hunchback. Paul could not help a slight start as he looked at him. The boy was quick to notice it, and a slight wave of colour came to the pallid cheek. Paul was annoyed at himself for having betrayed astonishment, and answered kindly:
"Yes; that is Garside. Are you going there?"
The boy nodded.
"Very well; we'll go along together. Do you mind taking my arm? The fellows are rather a rough lot till you get to know them. Your first term, isn't it?"
The boy looked his gratitude as Paul took him by the arm.
"Yes; my first term," he said.
"Do you know anybody at the school?"