ed morning, for I shall
be as lame as a tree, I think."

[4] #Pull#: lucky thing.

It was Sunday morning, and Sunday lectures had not yet been
established; so that nothing but breakfast intervened between bed and
eleven o'clock chapel,--a gap by no means easy to fill up; in fact,
though received with the correct amount of grumbling, the first
lecture instituted by the Doctor shortly afterward was a great boon to
the school. It was lie-in-bed, and no one was in a hurry to get up,
especially in rooms where the sixth-form boy was a good-tempered
fellow, as was the case in Tom's room, and allowed the small boys to
talk and laugh, and do pretty much what they pleased, so long as they
didn't disturb him. His bed was a bigger one than the rest, standing
in the corner by the fire-place, with a washing-stand and large basin
by the side, where he lay in state, with his white curtains tucked in
so as to form a retiring place; an awful subject of contemplation to
Tom, who slept nearly opposite, and watched the great man rouse
himself and take a book from under his pillow, and begin reading,
leaning his head on his hand, and turning his back to the room.
Soon, however, a noise of striving urchins arose, and muttered
encouragements from the neighboring boys, of--"Go it, Tadpole!" "Now,
young Green!" "Haul away his blanket!" "Slipper him on the hands!"
Young Green and little Hall, commonly called Tadpole, from his great
black head and thin legs, slept side by side far away by the door, and
were forever playing one another tricks, which usually ended, as on
this morning, in open and violent collision: and now, unmindful of all
order and authority, there they were each hauling away at the other's
bed-clothes with one hand, and with the other, armed with a slipper,
belaboring whatever portion of the body of his adversary came within
reach.

GETTING UP.

"Hold that noise, up in the corner!" called out the praepostor, sitting
up and looking round his curtains; and the Tadpole and young Green
sank down into their disordered beds, and then, looking at his watch,
added: "Hullo, past eight!--whose turn for hot water?"

(Where the praepostor was particular in his ablutions, the fags in his
room had to descend in turn to the kitchen, and beg or steal hot water
for him; and often the custom extended further, and two boys went down
every morning to get a supply for the whole room.)

"East's and Tadpole's," answered the senior fag, wh