And Dr Wilkins sat and listened with pride and thankfulness at heart, to find his young protégé the same earnest, unaffected boy he had parted with from Muggerbridge six months before. They talked for a long time that morning. The tutor and boy passed in review all the work hitherto accomplished and discussed the programme of future study. Many were the wholesome counsels the elder gave to the younger, and many were the new hopes and resolutions which filled the lad’s heart as he opened all his soul to his good friend.
“And now,” said Dr Wilkins, “I want you to take me to see your college and chapel.”
George looked perplexed. Who was he to conduct a Doctor of Divinity over his college. Such a hermit’s life had he led that he hardly knew the ins and outs of the place himself, and there was not a single man in the college to whom he was not a stranger.
“I’m afraid you’ve chosen a bad guide,” faltered he. “I don’t know any of the men, and very little of the place.”
“Oh, never mind that,” said the doctor; “it will be all the more interesting to make a tour of discovery, so come along!”
George put on his cap and gown and obeyed. For a moment he wished the gown had been long enough to conceal the patch on the knee of his trousers, but the next he laughed at himself for his vanity.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” thought he, “and if it is patched—well, it is.”
And thus consoling himself, he accompanied the doctor across the quadrangle.
Men certainly did stare at him as he passed, and some of them deemed him a queer “specimen,” and others wondered what Saint George’s was coming to. But my master, if he noticed their looks, disregarded them, and as for Dr Wilkins, he smiled to himself to think how prone mankind is to judge by appearances.
“Unless I mistake,” mused he to himself, “these young sparks of Saint George’s will some day think fit to be proud of their poor fellow-collegian.”