suddenly come out of the clouds... bang!


II

That last week went with a rattling speed and provided a number of most
interesting situations. In the first place there was the joy--a simple but
delightful one--on Monday morning, of thinking of those "others" who were
entering, with laggard foot, into old Parlow's study--that study with
the shining map of Europe on the wall, a bust of Julius Caesar (conquered
Britain? B.C.), and the worn red carpet. They would all be there. They
would wonder where he was, and on discovering that he would never come
again, Willie Daffoll, of recent tragic memory, would be pleased because
now he would be chief and leader. Well, let him!... Yes, that was all very
pleasant to think of.

There was further the thought that school might not, after all, be exactly
what Peter imagined it. The pictures in his mind were evolved from his
reading of "David Copperfield." There would be people like Steerforth and
dear Traddles, there would be a master who played the flute, there would be
rebellions and riots--would there?

Mrs. Trussit was of little value on this occasion:

"Mrs. Trussit, were you ever at school?"

"No, Master Peter, I was never at school. My good mother, who died at the
ripe old age of ninety-two with all her faculties, gave me a liberal and
handsome education with her own hands."