st day of the next
half-year, Tom, East, and another School-house boy, who had just been
dropped at the Spread Eagle by the old Regulator, rushed into the
matron's room in high spirits, such as all real boys are in when they
first get back, however fond they may be of home.

"Well, Mrs. Wixie," shouted one, seizing on the methodical, active,
little dark-eyed woman, who was busy stowing away the linen of the boys
who had already arrived into their several pigeon-holes, "here we are
again, you see, as jolly as ever. Let us help you put the things away."

"And, Mary," cried another (she was called indifferently by either
name), "who's come back? Has the Doctor made old Jones leave? How many
new boys are there?"

"Am I and East to have Gray's study? You know you promised to get it for
us if you could," shouted Tom.

"And am I to sleep in Number 4?" roared East.

"How's old Sam, and Bogle, and Sally?"

"Bless the boys!" cries Mary, at last getting in a word; "why, you'll
shake me to death. There, now, do go away up to the housekeeper's room
and get your suppers; you know I haven't time to talk. You'll find
plenty more in the house.--Now, Master East, do let those things alone.
You're mixing up three new boys' things." And she rushed at East, who
escaped round the open trunks holding up a prize.

"Hullo! look here, Tommy," shouted he; "here's fun!" and he brandished
above his head some pretty little night-caps, beautifully made and
marked, the work of loving fingers in some distant country home. The
kind mother and sisters who sewed that delicate stitching with aching
hearts little thought of the trouble they might be bringing on the
young head for which they were meant. The little matron was wiser, and
snatched the caps from East before he could look at the name on them.

"Now, Master East, I shall be very angry if you don't go," said she;
"there's some capital cold beef and pickles upstairs, and I won't have
you old boys in my room first night."

"Hurrah for the pickles! Come along, Tommy--come along, Smith. We shall
find out who the young count is, I'll be bound. I hope he'll sleep in my
room. Mary's always vicious first week."

As the boys turned to leave the room, the matron touched Tom's arm, and
said, "Master Brown, please stop a minute; I want to speak to you."

"Very well, Mary. I'll come in a minute, East. Don't finish the
pickles."

"O Master Brown," went on the little matron, when the rest had gone,