The Wellanders had a splendid view from the little platform on which their cottage stood.  Some friends had been invited for the day, and the father had brought with him from the city a package of fireworks.  But instead of wasting money on sky-rockets or other expensive pieces, he had concentrated almost wholly on blue and red lights, which he placed among the trees and over the plateau and set off in batches, first one colour and then the other.  Because the place was so high up, apart from the rest, and so heavily wooded, the effect was probably very pretty from the water.  Anyhow a burst of applause was heard from the passing flotilla.

“That’s for us,” said Keith’s father, “and not for those rich people down by the shore.”

As usual when very much pleased, he laughed while speaking so that it was hard to hear what he said.  But Keith heard, and a glow of pride swelled his chest.  It was the crowning climax of a scene that touched the boy with a sense of joy bordering on pain.  “Beautiful” was a word used repeatedly by the grown-up people about him.  He knew now that beauty was something that turned ordinary life into a pleasure more keen than could be had out of eating, or playing, or reading, or getting presents at Christmas even.  To this wonderful thing his father had added a personal triumph in which the whole family participated.  It silenced incipient criticism for a long time.

Nevertheless there was another side to that self-satisfied remark of his father, and it also stuck in his memory.  Back of the proud words lay envy and deference, and a suggestion of hopeless separation.  In Keith’s mind it became tied up with his memories from Loth’s party, and all of it formed a complex of thought from which he tried his best to get away—­and most of the time successfully.

XIV

For lack of sufficient accommodations in the over-crowded old building, one class had to use the assembly hall.  To make the many disadvantages more palatable, this location was presented as an honour reserved for the class shepherded by the old Rector himself.  Of this “honour” Keith became a participant when the fall term opened.

There were no desks—­only benches without backs.  The rest of the school left with a sense of relief after using them only during the fifteen minutes of morning prayer.  To sit on them hours at a stretch turned the day into torture before it was half done.  The only way of resting was to bend far forward with humped back, and no sooner did the Rector discover a boy in that position than he descended on the sinner: 

“Straight in the back, boy!  What do you think you are—­an old hag sorting rags?”

No attempt was made to arrange the boys according to merit.  On the first day every one chose a seat to suit himself, and so Keith found himself number five without knowing how it had happened.  Number four was a boy of his own size and age named George Murray, who seemed to be as friendless as was Keith.