n's luggage to
relish the extra duty put upon her by Mr Sharpe, had a very summary way
of dealing with cases of my kind.

"Sit down there, and don't move till you're told," said she, pointing to
a little three-legged stool in a corner in the box-room.

"But--" began I.

"Hold your tongue; how dare you speak to me?" she retorted.

"I only--"

"Stand in the corner, with your hands behind you, for disobedience,"
said she.

This was getting serious. The little three-legged stool would not have
been exactly luxurious; but to be stood in the corner with my hands
behind me by a person of the feminine gender called Smiley, was really
too bad. The worst of it was that if I made any further protest I might
be smacked in addition, and that possibility I hardly dared risk.

So, rather to my own surprise, I found myself standing in the corner,
with my hands at my back, scrutinising a blue and pink rose on the wall-
paper, and wondering whether it would not be worth my while to write to
the _Times_ about the whole business. I could not help thinking that
Mrs Smiley did not hurry herself on my account. I was conscious of box
after box being dragged to the front, emptied of its contents and put
back, to be removed presently by a porter, who probably looked at me
every time he came in, but, I am bound to say, received very little
encouragement from my studiously averted head.

After nearly an hour I began to get tired, and the blood of the Joneses
began to rise within me. I was seriously meditating mutiny, or at least
a definite explanation with Mrs Smiley, when at last she broke silence.

"Now, young gentleman, this way, please."

And she led me to a small comfortable-looking apartment, which I
surmised to be her particular sanctum.

"What's your name?"

"Jones," said I.

"Ah--you're the boy who's brought down a rubbishy speckled waistcoat and
loud striped shirts--eh?"

"Well, yes," said I.

"Did your mother buy them for you, or did you buy them?"

"I did."

"I can see your mother's a lady by the way she has everything else done.
You'll find your own trash just where you put it, in the bottom of your
trunk. You will not be allowed to wear it. We expect our boys to dress
like young gentlemen, whether they are such or not. What's that in your
hand, Jones?"

"My hat," said I, hoping I was coming in for a little credit at last.

"Hat!" Here she was rude enough to laugh. "What made you bring a thing
like