A Fluttered Dovecote. George Manville Fenn

want their young ladies to go first. Neither would give way; so we were mixed up altogether, greatly to Mrs. Blunt’s disgust and our delight in both schools; for really, you know, I think it comes natural for young ladies to like to see their teachers put out of temper.

      But always after one of these entertainments, as Mrs. Blunt called them—when, as a rule, the only entertainment was the fun afterwards—there used to be a lecture in Mrs. B.’s study for some one who was charged with unladylike behaviour in turning her head to look on the other side, or at the young gentlemen of the grammar-school—fancy, you know, thin boys in jackets, and with big feet and hands, and a bit of fluff under their noses—big boys with squeaky, gruff, half-broken voices, who were caned and looked sheepish; and, I declare, at last there would be so many of these lectures for looking about, that it used to make the young ladies worse, putting things into their heads that they would never have thought of before. Not that I mean to say that was the case with me, for I must confess to having been dreadfully wicked out of real spite and annoyance.