"I shall abide by what I said."

Mike's heart thumped.

"You will not go back to Wrykyn next term."

Somewhere in the world the sun was shining, birds were twittering;
somewhere in the world lambkins frisked and peasants sang blithely at
their toil (flat, perhaps, but still blithely), but to Mike at that
moment the sky was black, and an icy wind blew over the face of
the earth.

The tragedy had happened, and there was an end of it. He made no attempt
to appeal against the sentence. He knew it would be useless, his father,
when he made up his mind, having all the unbending tenacity of the
normally easygoing man.

Mr. Jackson was sorry for Mike. He understood him, and for that reason
he said very little now.

"I am sending you to Sedleigh," was his next remark.

Sedleigh! Mike sat up with a jerk. He knew Sedleigh by name--one of
those schools with about a hundred boys which you never hear of except
when they send up their gym team to Aldershot, or their Eight to Bisley.
Mike's outlook on life was that of a cricketer, pure and simple. What
had Sedleigh ever done? What were they ever likely to do? Whom did they
play? What Old Sedleighan had ever done anything at cricket? Perhaps
they didn't even _play_ cricket!