When he was gone, the pupils having already poured out of the schoolroom into the berceau , and thence into the garden and court to take their customary recreation before the five-o’clock dinner, I stood a moment thinking, and absently twisting the handkerchief round my arm. For some reason⁠—gladdened, I think, by a sudden return of the golden glimmer of childhood, roused by an unwonted renewal of its buoyancy, made merry by the liberty of the closing hour, and, above all, solaced at heart by the joyous consciousness of that treasure in the case, box, drawer upstairs⁠—I fell to playing with the handkerchief as if it were a ball, casting it into the air and catching it⁠—as it fell. The game was stopped by another hand than mine⁠—a hand emerging from a paletôt -sleeve and stretched over my shoulder; it caught the extemporised plaything and bore it away with these sullen words: