his very first dame's school.

And the church bells sent him back to the school he was at now! They were
more mellow and sedate than the chapel bells there, that rang you down the
hill at the double if you were late and not too asthmatical; and Pocket
saw and heard himself puffing up the opposite hill to take his place for
chapel call-over in the school quad. The fellows would be forming in
squads there now, all in their Sunday tails or Eton jackets as the case
might be; of course Pocket was in tails, though still rather proud of
them. The masters, in their silk hoods or their rabbit-skins were
prominent in his mind's eye. Then came the cool and spacious chapel, with
its marble pulpit and its brazen candelabra, and rows of chastened chapel
faces, that he knew better than his own, giving a swing to chants which
ran in his head at the very thought. How real it all was to him, and how
unreal this Sunday morning, in the sunny room with the battle engravings
over the book-cases, and the walnut chairs in front of them, and Dr.
Baumgartner in and out in his alpaca coat! After chapel he would have
gone for a walk with Blundell minor, most probably, or else written his
letter home and got it over. And that chapter would have ended with cold
boiled beef and apple-pie with cloves in it at Spearman's.

The Italian restaurant which sent in Dr. Baumgartner's meals certainly
provided richer fare than that. There was a top-floor of soup in the
portable contrivance, and before the meat a risotto, which the doctor
praised without a single patriotic reservation.

"Italy is a country where one can live," said he. "Not that you must
understand me to be altogether down on your own fatherland, my young
fellow; there is something to be said for London, especially on a Sunday.
No organs from my dear Italy, none of those so-called German bands which
we in Germany would not tolerate for a moment; no postman every hour of
the day, and no gaolbirds crying false news down the streets."

Pocket looked for a grim twinkle in the speaker's eye, but found it fixed
on Phillida, who had not looked up. Instinct prompted Pocket to say
something quickly; that he had not seen a postman there, was the actual
remark.

"That is because I conduct my correspondence at my club," explained the
doctor. "I give out no other address; then you only get your letters when
you want them."

"Do you often go there?" the boy ventured to inquire, devoutly wishin