t I wanted her to stay.

"Then I know: you've been breaking bounds. Oh dear, boys will be boys,
and it's quite natural, my dear, for you to want to get away, and run
where you like. I don't wonder, shut up as you all are, like being in a
cage. There, don't you fret, and it'll all come right. I'll see that
you have something beside bread and water. Bread and water, indeed!
Such stuff as is only to cook with. Why, they might just as well feed
you on flour."

"What time is it, Cook?" I asked.

"Just gone six, my dear; and there: I mustn't stop gossiping, for I've
my fire to light, my kitchen to do; but I hate people to be miserable.
I can't abide it. There's plenty of worries with one's work, as I told
missus only yesterday. There, good-bye, and don't you fret."

I heard the rustling of her dress as she went along the passage, and I
stood by the door till it died away, feeling sad but pleased, for it was
satisfactory to know that there were people about the place who cared
for me. But I felt more low-spirited directly as I thought of what she
might say as soon as she knew the real cause of why I was a prisoner.

The bell rang for rising, and I heard some of the boys soon after out in
their gardens; then, as I stood back from the window, I caught sight of
one or two, and after a while heard the increasing hum and buzz of
voices, and knew that some of them must be getting up lessons that had
been neglected over-night. And as I listened, I thought of the times
when I had murmured and felt dissatisfied at being obliged to give so
much time to such work, whereas now I was envying the happy boys who
were seated at study, with no greater care upon their minds.

Perhaps I was learning a great lesson then, one that I did not know.

The time went on very slowly, and it seemed many hours since I awoke,
when the breakfast-bell rang, and I sat picturing the scene, and
fancying I could hear the boys talking and the mugs and spoons
clattering, as the great piles of bread and butter disappeared.

I was just thinking this when there were steps in the passage, and soon
after the key was rattled in the lock, Mr Rebble appeared, and with him
one of the maids, with a tray on which was a mug and a plate of bread
and butter.

He did not look at me, only admitted the maid to set down the tray, saw
her out, and I was locked in again.

It was very much like the old time, but Tom Mercer was not there to
lighten my loneliness.