The half-year sped on much as usual. Not a gleam of sunshine burst
forth to dispel the clouds which hung lowering over the fair fame of
poor Ellis. He was either too proud or too indifferent as to what was
said of him to take any notice of the various tales--different versions
of the same story--flying about the school to his discredit. Now and
then Bracebridge heard of them, but he invariably replied that he
believed them to be utterly false, and he always treated the boy who
ventured to begin to narrate them to him with the scorn which a
tale-bearer deserves. The tales at last reached the ears of the
masters, but in so indefinite a form that they could take no notice of
them, much less report them to the Doctor; but they had the bad effect
of making them look upon poor Ellis as a black sheep, and of inducing
them to treat him with suspicion. Wrong motives were assigned to all he
did, and, with one exception, no one spoke kindly or encouragingly to
him. The exception was Monsieur Malin. Ellis's clever contrivance with
the kite and carriage had won his regard; and though, to be sure, his
reasoning might have been very incorrect, he could not fancy that so
ingenious a boy could have been guilty of the conduct alleged against
him, and which had brought him into such general disrepute. He talked
the subject over with Bracebridge, who was delighted to find that Ellis
had so powerful a friend. Monsieur Malin determined, therefore, to
support Ellis. He called him up one day, and asked him if he would like
to learn French.