As we stood waiting for some one to answer our ring, I listened nervously, I remember, for any sound or trace of my fellow "backward and troublesome boys," but the school appeared to be confined to one of the long straggling wings behind, and not to encroach on the state portion of the house.
After a second vigorous pull at the bell by our coachman, a stern and scraggy female put in her appearance.
"Is this Frederick Batchelor ?" she inquired, in tones which put my juvenile back up instantly.
"Yes, this is Master Freddy," put in the nervous Mrs Hudson, anxious to conciliate every one on my behalf.

"Freddy, dear, say--" "Is that his box ?" continued the stern dame.
"Yes," said Mrs Hudson, feeling rather chilled; "that's his box." "Nothing else ?" "No, except his umbrella, and a few--" "Take the box up to my room," said the lady to a boy who appeared at this moment.

"Where is the key ?" "I've got that, marm," replied Mrs Hudson, warming up a little, "and I should like to go over his things myself as they are unpacked." "Wholly unnecessary," replied the female, holding out her hand for the key.

"I see to everything of that kind here." "But I _mean_ to open the box!" cried Mrs Hudson, breaking out into a passion quite unusual with her.
I, too, had been getting the steam up privately during the last few minutes, and the sight of Mrs Hudson's agitation was enough to start the train.
"Yes," said I, swelling out with indignation, "Mrs Hudson and I are going to open the box.

You sha'n't touch it!" The female appeared to be not in the least put out by this little display of feeling.