time. I could feel them on the back of my head and the small of my back. You never saw such an abject spectacle as we nine spiritless youths appeared bending over our books, hardly daring to turn over a leaf or dip a pen, for fear of hearing that hateful voice. I could not help, however, turning my eyes to where the new boy sat, to see how he was faring. He, too, seemed infected with the depressing air of the place, and was furtively looking round among his new schoolfellows. I felt half fascinated by his black eyes, and when presently they turned and met mine, I almost thought I liked the new boy. My face must somehow have expressed what was passing through my mind, for as our eyes met there was a very faint smile on his lips, which I could not help returning.

“Batchelor and Smith, a bad mark each for inattention. That makes four bad marks to Batchelor in one day. No playground for half a week!”

Cheerful! I was getting used to the lady by this time, and remember sitting for the rest of the time calculating that if I got four bad marks every day of the week, that would be twenty-eight a week, or a hundred and twelve a month; and that if four bad marks deprived me of half a week’s playground, one month’s bad marks would involve an absence of precisely fourteen weeks from that peaceful retreat; whereat I bit my pen, and marvelled inwardly.

The dreary day seemed as if it would never come to an end. My spirits sank when, after “preparation,” we were ordered up stairs to tea. How could one enjoy tea poured out by Miss Henniker? Some people call it the “cup that cheers.” Let them take tea one afternoon at Stonebridge House, and they will soon be cured of that notion! I got another bad mark during the meal for scooping up the sugar at the bottom of my cup with my spoon.

“Surely,” thought I, “they’ll let us read or play, or do as we like, after tea for a bit?”

Vain hope! The meal ended, we again went down to our desks, where sheets of paper were distributed to each, and we were ordered to “write home”! Write home under Miss Henniker’s eye! That was worse than anything!

I began, however, as best I could. Of course, my letter was to Mrs Hudson. Where she was, was the only home I knew. I was pretty certain, of course, the letter would be looked over, but for all that I tried not to let the fact make any difference, and, as I warmed up to my task, I found my whole soul going out into my letter. I forgot all about its contents being perused, and was actually betrayed into shedding a few tears at the thought of my dear absent protectress.

“I wish I was back with you,” I wrote. “It’s miserable here. The sweets you gave me have been stolen by that horrid old—”

At this interesting juncture I was conscious of somebody standing behind me and looking over my shoulder. It was Miss Henniker!

“Give me that,” she said.

I snatched the letter up and tore it into pieces. I could stand a good deal, as I have said, but even a boy of twelve must draw the line somewhere.

Miss Henniker stood motionless as I destroyed my letter, and then said, in icy tones—

“Follow me, Batchelor.”

I rose meekly, and followed her—I cared not if it was to the gallows! She led me to her parlour, and ordered me to stand in the corner. Then she rang her bell.

“Tell Mr Ladislaw I should like to see him,” said she to the servant.

In due time Mr Ladislaw appeared, and the case for the prosecution forthwith opened. My misdemeanours for the entire day were narrated, culminating with this last heinous offence.

“Batchelor,” said Miss Henniker, “repeat to Mr Ladislaw word for word what you were writing when I came to you.”

I know not what spirit of meekness came over me. I did as I was told, and repeated the sentence verbatim down to the words, “The sweets you gave me have been stolen by that horrid old—”

“Old what?” said Mr Ladislaw.

“Old what?” said Miss Henniker, I hesitated.

“Come, now, say what you were going to write,” demanded Mr Ladislaw.

“Old what, Batchelor?” reiterated the Henniker, keeping her eyes on me.

I must be honest!

“Old beast,” I said in a low tone.

“I thought so,” said the lady. “Batchelor has called me a beast twice since he came here, Mr Ladislaw.”

“Batchelor must be punished,” said Mr Ladislaw, who, I could not help privately thinking, was a little afraid of Miss Henniker himself. “Come to my study, sir.”

I came, followed of course by the Henniker; and in Mr Ladislaw’s study I was caned on both hands. Miss Henniker would, I fancy, have laid it on a little harder than the master did. Still, it was enough to make me smart.

But the smart within was far worse than that without.

“Return to the class-room now, and write at once to your uncle, Mr Jakeman,” said Miss Henniker, “and to no one else.”

I returned to the room, where I found an eager whispered discussion going on. When a boy was taken off for punishment by the Henniker, those who were left always had a brief opportunity for conversation.

The subject of discussion, I found, was Smith, who sat apart, with no paper before him, apparently exempt from the general task. As usual, he was looking solemnly round him, but in no way to explain the mystery. At last Hawkesbury, the “pet” of the school—in other words, the only boy who seemed to get on with Miss Henniker and Mr Ladislaw—had walked up to Mr Hashford’s desk, where the usher sat in temporary authority, and had said, “Oh, Smith, the new boy, hasn’t any paper, Mr Hashford.”

“No, I was told not to give him any,” said the usher, terrified lest the Henniker should return.

“I wonder why?” said Hawkesbury.

“Yes, it is strange,” replied Mr Hashford; “but please go to your place, Hawkesbury; Miss Henniker will return.”

Hawkesbury had reported this brief conversation to his fellows, and this was what had given rise to the discussion I found going on when I returned from my caning. It was soon cut short by the Henniker’s reappearance; but the mystery became all the greater when it was seen that no notice was taken of the new boy’s idleness, and that at the close of the exercise, when we were all called upon to bring up our letters, his name was distinctly omitted.

My effusion to my uncle was brief and to the point.

Dear Uncle Jakeman,—Miss Henniker wishes me to say that I have had five bad marks to-day. I have also been caned hard on both hands for writing to dear Mrs Hudson, and for calling Miss Henniker bad names. I hope you are very well. Believe me, dear uncle, your affectionate nephew,—

Fred. Batchelor.

With the exception of striking out the “dear” before Mrs Hudson this letter was allowed to pass.

In due time and to my great relief the bell rang for bed, and glad of any chance of forgetting the hateful place, I went up stairs to the dormitory.

The new boy, I found, was to occupy the bed next mine, at which I was rather pleased than otherwise. I could not make out why I should take a fancy to Smith, but somehow I did; and when once during the night I happened to wake, and heard what sounded very much like a smothered sob in the bed next mine, I at least had the consolation of being sure I was not the only miserable boy at Stonebridge House.