In one sense the likenesses were speaking--that is, a gibbous balloon proceeded from the mouth of each figure, wherein the following dialogue was indicated.
"_Governess_ .-- `Naughty little Tommy-wommy, didn't know his Latin.
Tommy must have a smack when he goes bye-bye.' _Tommy_ .-- `Booh, hoo, how bow, yow, wow, oh my! I'll tell my ma!'" "Bring up that paper, Wheatfield," said Mr Stratton.
Wally made a wild grab at Ashby's exercise, and was proceeding to take it up when the master stopped him.
"Not that; the other, Wheatfield.

Bring it immediately." Whereupon Wally with shame had to rejoice Ashby's heart by restoring his _exercise_, and take up in its place the fancy portrait.
Mr Stratton gazed attentively and critically at this work of art.
"Not at all well done, Wheatfield," said he.

"Sit down at my table here and draw me thirty copies of it before you leave this room.

Next boy, go on." Wally confessed, in later life, that of all the impositions he had had in the course of his chequered career, none had been more abominable and wearisome than this.

Oh, how he got to detest that governess and her ward, and how sickening their talk became before the task was half over! He sat in that room nearly three hours by the clock, groaning over this task, and when at last he went in search of Mr Stratton with the original and thirty copies in his hand, he felt as limp and flabby, bodily and mentally, as he had ever done in his life.
Mr Stratton, who was having tea in his own room, examined each picture in turn, and rejected two as not fair copies of the original.
"Do these two again--here," said he.
Wally meekly obeyed.