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