ket, Greenfield," cried Paul, "pitch
into him!"

Stephen, nothing loth, marched up to Master Bramble and demanded his
blanket. A general engagement ensued, some of the inhabitants of the
dormitory siding with Stephen, and some with Bramble, until it seemed as
if the coveted blanket would have parted in twain. In the midst of the
confusion a sentry at the door suddenly put his head in and shouted
"Nix!" The signal had a magical effect on all but the uninitiated
Stephen, who, profiting by his adversaries' surprise, made one desperate
tug at his blanket, which he triumphantly rescued.

"Look sharp," said Paul, "here comes Rastle." Mr Rastle was the small
boys' tutor and governor. Stephen took the hint, and was very soon
curled up, with his brave blanket round him, in bed, where, despite the
despairing thought of his paper, the cruel injustice of the owner of the
jam-pots, and the general hardness of his lot, he could not help feeling
he was a good deal more at home at Saint Dominic's than he had ever yet
found himself.

Of one thing he was determined. He would be up at six next morning, and
make one last desperate dash at his exam paper.

CHAPTER FIVE.

SHAKING DOWN TO WORK.

"Master Greenfield, junior, is to go to the head master's study at
half-past nine," called out Mr Roach, the school porter, putting his
head into the dormitory, at seven o'clock next morning.

Stephen had been up an hour, making fearful and wonderful shots of
answers to his awful questions, half of which he had already ticked off
as done for better or worse. "If I write _something_ down to each,"
thought he to himself, "I might happen to get one thing right; it'll be
better than putting down no answer at all."

"Half-past nine!" said he to Paul, on hearing this announcement; "_ten_
was the time I was told."

"Who told you?"

"The gentleman who gave me my paper."

"What paper? you don't have papers. It's _viva voce_."

"I've got a paper, anyhow," said Stephen, "and a precious hard one, too,
and I've only half done it."

"Well, you'll have to go at half-past nine, or you'll catch it," said
Paul. "I say, there's Loman calling you."

Stephen, who, since the indignation meeting last night, had felt himself
grow very rebellious against the monitors, did not choose to hear the
call in question, and tried his hardest to make another shot at his
paper. But he could not keep deaf when Loman himself opened the door,
and pulling h