‘Evil,’ said Mr. Basingstoke, for such was Maurice’s surname, ‘is wrought by want of thought as well as want of heart. What about your putting the hen in the oven?’

‘You know,’ said Maurice, pale but determined, ‘you know I only wanted to help her to get her eggs hatched quickly. It says in “Fowls for Food and Fancy” that heat hatches eggs.’

[p5]‘But she hadn’t any eggs,’ said Mr. Basingstoke.

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5

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‘But she soon would have,’ urged Maurice. ‘I thought a stitch in time——’

time——’

‘That,’ said his father, ‘is the sort of thing that you must learn not to think.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Maurice, miserably hoping for the best.

‘I intend that you shall,’ said Mr. Basingstoke. ‘This afternoon you go to Dr. Strongitharm’s for the remaining week of term. If I find any more cruelty taking place during the holidays you will go there permanently. You can go and get ready.’

‘Oh, father, please not,’ was all Maurice found to say.

‘I’m sorry, my boy,’ said his father, much more kindly; ‘it’s all for your own good, and it’s as painful to me as it is to you—remember that. The cab will be here at four. Go and put your things together, and Jane shall pack for you.’

So the box was packed. Mabel, Maurice’s kiddy sister, cried over everything as it was put in. It was a very wet day.

‘If it had been any school but old Strong’s,’ she sobbed.

She and her brother knew that school well: its windows, dulled with wire blinds, its big [p6]  alarm bell, the high walls of its grounds, bristling with spikes, the iron gates, always locked, through which gloomy boys, imprisoned, scowled on a free world. Dr. Strongitharm’s was a school ‘for backward and difficult boys.’ Need I say more?

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