On the front door was a plate displaying Miss Rutherford's name,--nothing more.

That lady herself was middle-aged, grave at all times, kindly, and, be it added, fairly competent as things go in the world of school.
The room was rather bare, but the good fire necessitated by the winter season was not wanting, and the plain boarding of the floor showed itself no stranger to scrubbings.

A clock hanging on the wall ticked very loudly in the perfect stillness as the schoolmistress took her seat.
She appeared to examine a book for a few moments, then raised her head, looked at the faces before her with a troubled expression, and began to speak.
"I wish to know who can give me any account of the way in which Harriet Smales received her hurt.

Stop! Hands only, please.

And only those raise their hands who actually saw the blow struck, and overheard _all_ that led to it.