"Well," said Harry, "I know what Mrs. Bickersteth would _not_ like, and if you say _that_ again I shall smack your head." Which so discomfited and subdued the excitable Gifford that Harry liked him immensely from that moment, and not the less when he discovered that the boy's incredible information was perfectly correct. Mrs. Bickersteth was a widow lady with three grown-up children, whom she insisted on the boys addressing, not merely by their Christian names, but by familiar abbreviations of the same. Leonard and Reginald were City men who went out every morning with a bang of the big front door, and came home in the evening with a rattle of their latch-keys. Both were short and stout like their mother, with beards as yellow as her hair, while Leonard, the elder, was really middle-aged; but it was against the rules for the boys to address or refer to them as anything but Lennie and Reggie, and only the governess and Harry were permitted to say "Mr. Bickersteth." As for the baby of the family, who was Baby still to all her world, she was certainly some years younger; and the name was more appropriate in her case, since she wore the family hair down to eyes of infantile blue, and had the kind of giggle which seldom survives the nursery. She knew no more about boys than any other lady in the house, but was a patently genuine and good-hearted girl, and deservedly popular in the school. When Harry went to bed that night he smelt the smoke of a candle, though he carried his own in his hand. Woodman was apparently fast asleep, but, on being questioned, he won Harry's heart by confessing without hesitation or excuse. He had _The Red Eric_ and a candle-end under his pillow, and the wax was still soft when he gave them up. Harry sat on the side of his bed and duly lectured him on the disobedience and the danger of the detected crime, while the criminal lay with his great eyes wide open, and his hair almost as white as the pillow beneath it. When he had done the small boy said-- "If they had spoken to me like that, sir, last time, sir, I never should have done it again." "You shouldn't have done it in any case," said Harry. "You've got to promise me that it's the last time." "It's so hard to go asleep the first night of the term, sir," sighed Woodman. "You keep thinking of this time yesterday and this time last week, sir." Harry's eye was on the little irons lying on top of the little heap of clothes, but he put on the firmest face he could. "That's the same for all," he said. "How do you know I don't feel like that myself? Now, you've got to give me your word that you won't ever do this again!" "But suppose they say what they said before, sir?" "Give me your word," said Harry. "Very well, sir, I never will." "Then I give you mine, Woodman, to say nothing about this; but mind--I expect you to keep yours."