"

"Humph!"

"Our own training, sir. Mr Sibery has spared no pains, and I have
watched over the boys' morals."

"Yes, I dare say. Of course. Here, what boy's that?"

He pointed with his cane to a pair of round blue eyes, quite at the
back.

"That, sir--that lame boy!"

"No, no; that young quicksilver customer with the curly poll."

"Oh! that, sir! He wouldn't do," cried the two masters almost in a
breath.

"How do you know!" said the doctor tartly.

"Very bad boy indeed, sir, I'm sorry to say," said the schoolmaster.

"Yes, sir; regular young imp; so full of mischief that he corrupts the
other boys. Can't say a word in his favour; and, besides, he's too
young."

"How old?"

"About eleven, sir."

"Humph! Trot him out."

"Obed Coleby," said the master in a severe voice.

"Coleby, eh?"

"Yes, sir. Son of a miserable tramp who died some years ago in the
House. No name with him, so we called him after the town."

"Humph!" said the doctor, as the little fellow came, full of eagerness
and excitement, after kicking at Pillett, who put out a leg to hinder
his advance.

The doctor frowned, and gazed sternly at the boy, taking in carefully
his handsome, animated face, large blue eyes, curly yellow hair, and
open forehead: not that his hair had much opportunity for curling--the
workhouse barber stopped that.

The boy's face was as white as those of his companions, but it did not
seem depressed and inanimate, for, though it was thin and white, his
mouth was rosy and well-curved, and the slightly parted lips showed his
pearly white teeth.

"Humph!" said the doctor, as the bright eyes gazed boldly into his.

"Where's your bow, sir?" said the master sternly.

"Oh! I forgot," said the boy quickly; and he made up for his lapse by
bowing first with one and then the other hand.

"A sad young pickle," said the master. "Most hopeless case, sir.
Constantly being punished."

"Humph! You young rascal!" said the doctor sternly. "How dare you be a
naughty boy!"

The little fellow wrinkled his white forehead, and glanced at the
schoolmaster, and then at Mr Hippetts, before looking back at the
doctor.

"I d'know," he said, in a puzzled way.

"You don't know, sir!"

"No. I'm allus cotching it."

"Say _sir_, boy," cried the master.

"Allus cotching of it, sir, and it don't do me no good."

"Really, Dr Grayson--"

"Wait a bit, Mr Hippetts," said the doctor more graciously. "Let me
question t