Leonard Morrison found himself sent to Coventry, not by his schoolfellows, but by his sister. It was just the punishment he had decided she deserved for daring to have an opinion of her own that differed from his, and so to find himself 'hoist with his own petard' made him very angry. 'Where is Flo going to do her lessons to-night?' he asked his mother, when he went to the study and found it in darkness. His sister usually lighted the lamp ready for him, but his mother had come with him to do it to-night. 'She has gone to her own room--she wants to be quiet, she says. You should not talk so much, Lenny dear,' added the lady. 'Nasty little thing! She has been telling tales, I suppose?' 'She did not say what you had been talking about, if that is what you mean,' said Mrs. Morrison, 'but your father heard a great deal of chatter, he says.' 'So Flo has taken herself off,' said Leonard, as he took his seat and opened his school satchel. 'A nice time I shall have, if Taylor keeps his word and sends me to Coventry at school! I shall lose the use of my tongue in about a week, if nobody will speak to me. It's a lively look-out, any way, and what have I done to deserve it, I should like to know?' Leonard considered himself a very ill-used individual just then, and he was specially angry with his sister because she had so neatly turned the tables upon him in leaving him to do his lessons alone. He missed her sadly as the time went on, and there was no one to grumble at or ask advice from. What to do about speaking to his father he did not know, and at last he decided to say something to his mother about the matter; not that he meant to tell her all, but he would just ask her if she thought Taylor was right in his statement. So when Mrs. Morrison came into the room with his slice of cake for his supper, he said, 'Do you know whether father had anything to do with sending that scholarship boy to Torrington's?' 'Why--isn't he a good boy?' said the lady. 'That isn't it, mother. He may be good--I dare say he is--but did father send him there?' 'The County Council sent him; your father would not have the power.' 'I suppose not,' said Leonard in a satisfied tone. 'But why did you ask, my boy?' said the lady. 'Oh, it doesn't matter,' said Leonard, lightly. 'As long as daddy didn't send him it's all right.' 'But what has happened? What sort of a boy is he?' 'Oh, he's all right, I dare say. Boys can't peach, you know, mother.' And Leonard's light words sent his mother out with an aching heart. 'More trouble, I fear,' she said softly to herself, as she closed the door and went back to the dining-room. 'Poor Dick! poor, dear Dick! What misery he has brought to us all! And yet he was never wicked--only weak.' The lady buried her face in her handkerchief for a few minutes, but roused herself when she heard the street door open and close, and went and rung the bell for supper to be served.