"Perhaps he's gone to meet that young cousin of his," he said to himself, as his mind went back to Oakville, and the never-to-be-forgotten evening on which he had met Harry Moncrief. Hibbert wished to be taken to Mr. Weevil the science master, as he was to receive his introduction to the school through that gentleman.
Paul accordingly took him to Mr. Weevil's rooms. He was fortunate enough to find the master in. He was a sallow-complexioned man, with thin, clean-shaven lips. He had a restless, hungry-looking pair of eyes, which went up quickly to Paul as he entered the room.
"What is it, Percival?"
"I've brought along a new boy, sir—Hibbert."
"Hibbert?" Mr. Weevil at once rose from his seat, and eyed the boy keenly; then his hand went out to the lad: "Welcome to Garside. You can leave us, Percival."
Thus summarily dismissed, Paul went out, leaving Hibbert and the science master together. It seemed as though the master were favourably impressed with the new boy—in spite of the fact that he was a hunchback.
"Bravo, Weevil! That's a point in your favour, at any rate. I didn't think that you had much pity for any one. Poor little chap!"
His heart went out in sympathy to the little hunchback. What a shadow his deformity must cast upon his life?
"They say that hunchbacks are spiteful, and I don't wonder at it. But Hibbert doesn't seem a spiteful sort of fellow. Where did he pick up that foreign accent, I wonder?"
As he thought of him, he could not help thinking how thankful he ought to be to God that he was healthy and straight of limb. It was not till he came in contact with poor, deformed creatures like Tim Hibbert that he understood God's goodness to himself.