sent
know anything about the missing paper?"

You might have heard a pin drop as the Doctor paused for a reply.

"No? I expected not; I am quite satisfied. You can disperse, boys, to
your various places."

"What a fellow the Doctor is for speeches, Wray," said Oliver, as he and
his friend made their way to the Sixth Form room.

"Yes. But that's a very queer thing about the paper, though."

"Oh, he's certain to have mislaid it somewhere. It's a queer thing
saying anything about it; for it looks uncommonly as if he suspected
some one."

"So it does. Oh, horrors! here we are at the torture-chamber! I wish
it was all over!"

They entered the Sixth Form room, which was regularly cleared for
action. One long desk was allotted to the three Nightingale candidates,
two others to the English Literature boys, and another to the
competitors in a Sixth Form Greek verse contest.

Loman was already in his place, waiting with flushed face for the ordeal
to begin. The two friends took their seats without vouchsafing any
notice of their rival, and an uncomfortable two minutes ensued, during
which it seemed as if the Doctor were never to arrive.

He did arrive at last, however, bringing with him the examination papers
for the various classes.

"Boys for the Greek verse prize come forward."

Wren, Raleigh, Winter, and Callonby advanced, and received each one his
paper.

"Boys for the Nightingale Scholarship come forward."

The three competitors obeyed the summons, and to each was handed a
paper.

It was not in human nature to forbear glancing hurriedly at the
momentous questions, as each walked slowly back to his seat. The effect
of that momentary glance was very different on the three boys.
Wraysford's face slightly lengthened, Loman's grew suddenly aghast,
Oliver's betrayed no emotion whatever.

"Boys for the English Literature prize come forward."

These duly advanced and were furnished, and then silence reigned in the
room, broken only by the rapid scratching of pens and the solemn tick of
the clock on the wall.

Reader, you doubtless know the horrors of an examination-room as well as
I do. You know what it is to sit biting the end of your pen, and
glaring at the ruthless question in front of you. You know what it is
to dash nervously from question to question, answering a bit of this and
a bit of that, but lacking the patience to work steadily down the list.
And you have experienced doubtless the aggr