'Oh! what is it, Jack?'
'S—sh! Can't you make less noise? Just like a girl!'
Grumbling and muttering, he stole into the schoolroom—deserted now at three o'clock in the afternoon—followed on tip-toe by his younger sister, Augusta.
She eyed his movements eagerly, as he let down the Venetian shutters, drew together the heavy serge curtains, and poked up the sleepy fire till little tongues of red light darted mysteriously about the room. Then he thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out something!
Gussie retreated into a corner, and clasped her hands together.
'Not a mouse, Jack? Oh! I can't bear them—please, please——!'
'Are you nine, or are you two, Gussie?' asked Master Twelve-year-old.
He put a dirty, yellowish mass on the table. Gussie approached it anxiously. It might have been anything in that ghostly light—but, at least, it did not move.
'Wax!' announced Jack, triumphantly.
'Nasty, dirty stuff!' sniffed Gussie.