He took it down, smiled a little, put it into his pocket, and entered the schoolroom.

An insidious silence prevailed, which looked as if some plot were brewing.
The boys were ripe for mischief, but afraid.

They had really no fault to find with the master, except that he was dressed like a gentleman, which a certain class of fellows always consider a personal insult to themselves.

But the older ones were evidently plotting, and more than once the warning a'h'm! was heard, and a dirty little scrap of paper rolled into a wad shot from one seat to another.

One of these happened to strike the stove-funnel, and lodged on the master's desk.