d marks for talking!" was my only reply, and off I slunk, feeling
rather crushed, to the dormitory.

I found Flanagan scrubbing at our basin.

"Ah," said he, "I thought you'd get potted."

"I think it's a shame," said I.

"Look-out, I say," exclaimed Flanagan, skipping away as if he'd been
shot, and resuming his wash at the other basin.

Presently he came back on tip-toe, and whispered, "Why can't you talk
lower, you young muff?"

"Surely she can't hear, here up stairs?"

"Can't she? That's all you know! She hears every word you say all over
the place, I tell you."

I went on "hard all" at the nail-brush for a minute or so in much
perplexity.

"Keep what you've got to say till you get outside. Thank goodness,
she's rheumatic or something, and we can open our mouths there. I say,"
added he, looking critically at my hands, "you'd better give those nails
of yours a cut, or you'll get potted again."

I was grateful for this hint, and felt in my pocket for my knife. In
doing so I encountered the box of sweets Mrs Hudson had left in my hand
yesterday, and which, amid other distractions, I had positively
forgotten. "Oh, look here," said I, producing the box, delighted to be
able to do a good turn to my friendly schoolfellow. "Have some of
these, will you?"

Flanagan's face, instead of breaking out into grateful smiles, as I
anticipated, assumed a sudden scowl, and at the same moment Miss
Henniker entered the dormitory!

Quick as thought I plunged the box back into my pocket, and looked as
unconcerned as it was possible to do under the trying circumstances.

"Flanagan and Batchelor, a bad mark each for talking," said the now
painfully familiar voice. "What have you there, Batchelor?" added she,
holding out her hand. "Something Mrs Hudson gave me," I replied.

"I wish to see it."

I was prepared to resist. I could stand a good deal, but sheer robbery
was a thing I never fancied. However, a knowing look on Flanagan's face
warned me to submit, and I produced the box.

The lady took it and opened it. Then closing it, she put it in her own
pocket, saying--

"This is confiscated till the end of the term. Flanagan and Batchelor,
`Show nails.'"

We did show nails. Mine still needed some trimming before they were
satisfactory, and then I was bidden descend to the parlour for prayers.

Prayers at Stonebridge House consisted of a few sentences somewhat
quickly uttered by Mr Ladislaw, who put in an ap