By An Old Boy.
Before I had been long at Mr. Gray's boarding-school, to which I was
sent when I was a very young boy, and which was very different from such
schools as St. Paul's, I heard of a mysterious and horrible place
called, as the boys said, the Preay Chamber. We supposed it to be a
gloomy and awful dungeon, but nobody knew just where it was, and nobody
pretended that he had ever been imprisoned in it. The truth was that it
was thought to be a punishment so dreadful that whenever a boy was
sentenced to the chamber of torture, good, motherly Mrs. Gray, whom we
all loved, always interceded for the culprit. Good woman, how we did
bless her!
I am an old boy now, but all younger boys will understand how easy it
was for me one evening when we were all marching out from tea, and I
passed close by the table with the open sugar bowl upon it, to raise my
hand quietly, without stopping or looking, seize a lump of sugar, and
let my hand drop again.
"Joe!" instantly shouted Mr. Gray, who sat in his chair watching us as
we filed out.
"Yes, Sir."
"Come here, Joe, and all the boys remain."
I was a little fellow of seven years old, and I pity my poor little
self as I look back upon that moment. I advanced to the master's chair,
and stood before him in the presence of the school, with my guilty right
hand closed at my side. There was awful silence as the master said,
"Joe, what have you in your hand?"
"Nothing, Sir."
"Joe, hold out your right hand."