Can you keep order?"

"I don't know; I haven't tried yet."

"Well, just mind what you're about. Keep your hands off the boys; we
don't want manslaughter or anything of that sort here."

Jeffreys started. Was it possible that this was a random shot, or did
Trimble know about Bolsover and young Forrester? The next remark
somewhat reassured him.

"They're looking sharp after private schools now; so mind, hands off.
There's one o'clock striking. All in! Come along. You'd better take
the second class and see what you can make of them. Precious little ma
will put her nose in, now you're here to do the work."

He led the way down the passage and across a yard into an outhouse which
formed the schoolroom. Here were assembled, as the two ushers entered,
some forty boys ranging in age from seven to twelve, mostly, to judge
from their dress and manners, of the small shopkeeper and farmer class.

The sound of Trimble's voice produced a dead silence in the room,
followed immediately by a movement of wonder as the big, ungainly form
of the new assistant appeared. Jeffreys' looks, as he himself knew,
were not prepossessing, and the juvenile population of Galloway House
took no pains to conceal the fact that they agreed with him.

"Gordon," said Trimble, addressing a small boy who had been standing up
when they entered, "what are you doing?"

"Nothing, sir."

"You've no business to be doing nothing! Stand upon that form for an
hour!"

The boy obeyed, and Trimble looked round at Jeffreys with a glance of
patronising complacency.

"That's the proper way to do with them," said he. "Plenty of ways of
taking it out of them without knocking them about."

Jeffreys made no reply; he felt rather sorry for the weak-kneed little
youngster perched up on that form, and wondered if Mr Trimble would
expect him (Jeffreys) to adopt his method of "taking it out" of his new
pupils.

Just then he caught sight of the familiar face of Master Freddy, one of
his friends of the morning, who was standing devouring him with his eyes
as if he had been a ghost. Jeffreys walked across the room and shook
hands with him.

"Well, Freddy, how are you? How's Teddy?"

"I say," said Trimble, in by no means an amiable voice, as he returned
from this little excursion, "what on earth are you up to? What did you
go and do that for?"

"I know Freddy."

"Oh, do you? Freddy Rosher, you're talking. What do you mean by it?"

"Please, sir, I