shutters; the mantelpiece, too, was
of white marble, and the gaselier fitted with dingy crystal lustres.

But sad-coloured maps hung on the ink-splashed walls, and a clock with a
blank idiotic face (it is not every clock that possesses a decently
intelligent expression) ticked over the gilt pier-glass. The boards were
uncarpeted, and stained with patches of ink of all sizes and ages; while
the atmosphere, in spite of the blazing fire, had a scholastic blending
of soap and water, ink and slate-pencil in its composition, which
produced a chill and depressing effect.

On the forms opposite the fire some ten or twelve boys were sitting, a
few comparing notes as to their holiday experiences with some approach
to vivacity. The rest, with hands in pockets and feet stretched towards
the blaze, seemed lost in melancholy abstraction.

"There!" said Mrs. Grimstone cheerfully, "you'll have plenty to talk to
one another about. I'll send Tom in to see you presently!" And she left
them with a reassuring nod, though the prospect of Tom's company did not
perhaps elate them as much as it was intended to do.

Mr. Bultitude felt much as if he had suddenly been dropped down a
bear-pit, and, avoiding welcome and observation as well as he could, got
away into a corner, from which he observed his new companions with
uneasy apprehension.

"I say," said one boy, resuming the interrupted conversation, "did you
go to Drury Lane? Wasn't it stunning! That goose, you know, and the lion
in the forest, and all the wooden animals lumbering in out of the toy
Noah's Ark!"

"Why couldn't you come to our party on Twelfth-night?" asked another.
"We had great larks. I wish you'd been there!"

"I had to go to young Skidmore's instead," said a pale, spiteful-looking
boy, with fair hair carefully parted in the middle. "It was like his
cheek to ask me, but I thought I'd go, you know, just to see what it was
like."

"What was it like?" asked one or two near him languidly.

"Oh, awfully slow! They've a poky little house in Brompton somewhere,
and there was no dancing, only boshy games and a conjurer, without any
presents. And, oh! I say, at supper there was a big cake on the table,
and no one was allowed to cut it, because it was hired. They're so poor,
you know. Skidmore's pater is only a clerk, and you should see his
sisters!"

"Why, are they pretty?"

"Pretty! they're just like young Skidmore--only uglier; and just fancy,
his mother asked me 'if I