"I wonder if I've been missed?" he asked himself, as he looked at the sleepers. "I don't think so."
Had he seen the figure in the end bed—the same that had watched him the night before—open his eyes cautiously, and watch him curiously when his back was turned, he would have come to a different conclusion. However, he was just as unconscious that Parfitt was watching him as he had been the night before. He lay down for another hour, then rose before first bell had sounded, washed, dressed, and went out into the grounds.
Early as it was he found Harry Moncrief there before him. He wore rather a dejected appearance.
"I've had a beastly night, Paul," he said, coming forward to greet him. "I couldn't sleep thinking of Stan. It's the longest night I've ever had, and all the other fellows were snoring like steam-engines, except that new chap, Hibbert. I rather fancy Plunger had been playing pranks with his bed, but he didn't shout out or take on; so he was pluckier than I was. Do you think the fellows here will look down on me for snivelling?"
"I cannot say. I hope so. Is young Hibbert out?"
"He's somewhere about the ground, I think."
Paul searched about the ground, but could see nothing of him. He turned into the field adjoining, and there he found him, sitting on the trunk of a tree, quite apart from the other boys, with his face resting on his hands.
"He's just as soft as young Moncrief, but he's too proud to show it. He's been crying, I know."
If the boy had been, he brushed away all sign of it when he heard Paul's footsteps, and started quickly to his feet. The frightened look in his eyes disappeared when he saw who it was. They grew quite bright in an instant.
"What are you doing here, youngster?" said Paul kindly, placing a hand upon the boy's shoulder. "You're not going to be a moper, are you? That will never do."