The Head thought right, and Ferrers Minor presented his startled and dejected countenance. “Did you, or did you not, know the rule about sitting on the railings?” demanded the Head. “Yes, sir,” said Ferrers Minor. “Then this is wilful disobedience,” thundered the Head. “I will not be bullied by you, Ferrers Minor, nor have you disregard the rules with which you are perfectly well acquainted. I suppose you wish to make a fool of me, to hold me up to ridicule for having the impertinence to frame rules which Mr. Ferrers Minor keeps or not, as he finds convenient. Was that your plan?” “N-no, sir,” said Ferrers Minor. “Then I will make a plan for you instead, and it is that you write out in your best copy-hand ‘I will not sit on the railings like an ass’ a hundred times. You may go, Ferrers Minor.” But Rhadamanthus, the inexorable terror, had only mounted his judgment throne for a moment, and came down off it again. His grip relaxed, and he patted David’s shoulder. “And now for our literature lesson,” he said. “It’s too hot to hold it in the museum, isn’t it, Blaize, when we can sit under the trees instead. Let’s have it out here: go in, will you, and tell the class to come out. And, personally, I shall take my coat off, and anybody else who likes to do the same of course may.” The boys trooped out at David’s summons, peeling off their coats, and grouped themselves in the shade of the four big elms that stood in a quadrilateral clump at the edge of the field. The Head had taken off his coat, and, leaning on his elbows, lay on that part of his person which in ordinary mortals is called the stomach, with a book or two in front of him. “All comfortably settled?” he said. “That’s all right. Now to-day I’m going to talk to you about a man whom very likely you have never heard of, and read you something he wrote. His name was Keats, John Keats. Has anybody heard of him?” Nobody had.