“I say, Tom,” I said at last, “don’t you wish you were down-stairs finishing your lessons, ready for after breakfast?”
“Ah, that I do!” he cried; “and I never felt so before.”
“That’s through being locked up like in prison,” I said philosophically.
“Yes, it’s horrid. I say, the old Doctor won’t expel us, will he?”
“I hope not,” I said.
“But he will old Magglin. You see if he don’t.”
“Well, I’m not sorry for him,” I said; “he has behaved like a sneak.”
“Yes; trying to put it all on to us.”
We relapsed into silence for some time. We had opened the window, and were looking out at the mists floating away over the woods, and the distant sea shining like frosted silver.
“Oh, I do wish it was a wet, cloudy morning!” I said at last.