Pip groaned; then Judy stood up.

“Let’s creep down as far as the engine,” she said, “and see if he does look very bad.”

They made their way cautiously along the deck, and took up a position where they could see without being seen.  The dear little General was sitting on the seat next to his stern father, who had a firm hold of the back of his woolly-pelisse.  He was sucking his little dirty hand, and casting occasional longing glances at his tan shoe, which he knew was delicious to bite.  Once or twice he had pulled it off and conveyed it to his mouth, but his father intercepted it, and angrily buttoned it on again in its rightful place.  He wanted, too, to slither off the horrid seat, and crawl all over the deck, and explore the ground under the seats, and see where the puffing noise came from; but there was that iron grasp on his coat that no amount of wriggling would move.  No wonder the poor child looked unhappy!

At last the boat stopped at a wharf not far from Misrule, and the Captain alighted, carrying his small dirty son gingerly in his arms.  He walked slowly up the red road along which the dogcart had sped so blithesomely some six or seven hours ago, and Judy and Pip followed at a respectful—­a very respectful—­distance.  At the gate he saw them, and gave a large, angry beckon for them to come up.  Judy went very white, but obeyed instantly, and Pip, pulling himself together, brought up the rear.

Afterwards Judy only had a very indistinct remembrance of what happened during the next half-hour.  She knew there was a stormy scene, in which Esther and the whole family came in for an immense amount of vituperation.

Then Pip received a thrashing, in spite of Judy’s persistent avowal that it was all her fault, and Pip hadn’t done anything.  She remembered wondering whether she would be treated as summarily as Pip, so angry was her father’s face as he pushed the boy aside and stood looking at her, riding whip in hand.  But he flung it, down and laid a heavy hand on her shrinking shoulder.

“Next Monday,” he said slowly—­“next Monday morning you will go to boarding school.  Esther, kindly see Helen’s clothes are ready for boarding school—­next Monday morning.”

CHAPTER V “Next Monday Morning”

There was a trunk standing in the hall, and a large, much-travelled portmanteau, and there were labels on them that said:  “Miss Helen Woolcot, The Misses Burton, Mount Victoria.”

In the nursery breakfast was proceeding spasmodically.  Meg’s blue eyes were all red and swollen with crying, and she was still sniffing audibly as she poured out the coffee.  Pip had his hands in his pockets and stood on the hearthrug, looking gloomily at a certain plate, and refusing breakfast altogether; the General was crashing his own mug and plate joyously together; and Bunty was eating bread and butter in stolid silence.