They slunk off meekly in obedience to this order, and waited the hour of vengeance in blank dismay.
Dr Senior did not keep them long in suspense, however. His slow, firm step sounded presently down the corridor, and at the sound each wretched culprit quaked with horror.
Mr Rastle was in the room, and rose as usual to greet his chief; the boys also, as by custom bound, rose in their places. “Good morning, Mr Rastle,” said the Doctor. “Are your boys all here?”
“Yes, sir, we have just called over.”
“Ah! And what class comes on first?”
“English literature, sir.”
“Well, Mr Rastle, I will take the class this morning, please—instead of you.”
A groan of horror passed through the ranks of the unhappy Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles at these words. Bramble looked wildly about him, if haply he might escape by a window or lie hid in a desk; while Stephen, Paul, Padger, and the other ringleaders, gave themselves up for lost, and mentally bade farewell to joy for ever.
“What have the boys been reading?” inquired Dr Senior of Mr Rastle.
“Grey’s Elegy, sir. We have just got through it.”