“Flanagan!” cried the well-known voice—“Flanagan, come here!”
Flanagan obeyed, and stood meekly before the tyrant.
“This is the eighth time to-day, Flanagan, I have rebuked you for talking. You are detained for the rest of the term. Hold out your hand, Flanagan!”
It was not often the Henniker inflicted corporal punishment herself; when she did it was pretty smart, as Flanagan found. In the absence of a cane she had used the ruler, and as Flanagan—who unsuspectingly supposed she was merely seized with a desire to inspect his nails—held out his hand knuckles upwards, the ruler descended on his knuckles with such force that the luckless youth howled for astonishment, and performed a dance solo in the middle of the floor.
We were sorry for him, yet we inwardly smiled to think how soon the tables would be turned.
That night, just before we went to bed, as I was in the shoe-room looking for my slippers, I had the satisfaction of hearing the Henniker say to the kitchen-maid, “Matilda, we’re getting short of bread. Let the baker know to call on Monday next week.”
Things could not have promised better for our desperate scheme!