“Is there? How jolly! Read it out, Noll.”
So Oliver read it out. It was an ordinary, kind, motherly epistle, such as thousands of schoolboys get every week of the school year. All about home, and what is going on, how the dogs are, where sister Mary has been to, how the boiler burst last week, which apple-tree bore most, and so on; every scrap of news that could be scraped up from the four winds of heaven was in that letter.
And to the two brothers, far away, and lonely even among their schoolfellows, it came like a breath of fresh air that morning.
“I have been so proud,” went on Mrs Greenfield towards the end of the letter, “ever since I heard of dear Oliver’s success in winning the scholarship. Not so much for the value of it, though that is pretty considerable, but because I am so sure he deserves it.”
“Hear, hear!” put in Stephen.
“Poor Mr Wraysford! I hope he is not very much disappointed. How nice it would have been if there had been two scholarships, and each could have had one! I suppose the Fifth is making quite a hero of Oliver. I know one foolish old woman who would like to be with her boys this moment to share their triumph.”
Oliver laughed bitterly.
“That would be a treat for her!”
Stephen, very red in the face, was too furious for words, so Oliver went on: