CHAPTER SEVEN.
HOW THERE AROSE A NOTABLE REBELLION AT STONEBRIDGE HOUSE.
Of course we were wrong; of course we were foolish.
But then, reader, please remember we were only boys goaded up to the last pitch, and quite unable, as I have narrated, to stand the Henniker any longer.
It was no game we were embarked on.

If you had seen the seriousness of our faces as we inspected the parlour and reconnoitred the Henniker's future prison, that Saturday; if you had heard the seriousness of our voices as we solemnly deliberated whether nails or screws would be best to use in fastening up the doors--you would have found out that, "backward and troublesome" boys as we were, we could be in earnest sometimes.
"Screwing's quieter," said Rathbone.
"Nailing's quicker," said Philpot.
"Isn't that a thing the captain had better decide ?" softly suggested Hawkesbury, turning to Smith.
I always got fidgety when the senior boy and my chum got near each other.

Smith had such a way of firing up instinctively at whatever the other might say, even when it meant no harm.
He flared up now with his eyes, and then turning to the two boys, said, shortly, "Screws of course; that's been settled long ago." Hawkesbury smiled gratefully, and said he was sure a matter like that would not be overlooked.
Well, the Henniker went on having her fling that Saturday and Sunday.
We caught it right and left, and took it all meekly.

Nay, some of us took it so meekly that I was once or twice afraid our secret would be suspected.
The regulation-reading in the parlour on Sunday evening was a shocking time for me.

I had no intention of being bad, but somehow, what with the excitement of our scheme, and the dreariness of the reader's voice, and the closeness of the room, I fell asleep and nearly rolled off my form.
The Henniker put down her book.
"Batchelor," said she, "you shall be punished.