ing。　I　saw　a　universal　manifestation　of　discontent　when　the　fumes　of　the　repast　met　the　nostrils　of　those　destined　to　swallow　it；　from　the　van　of　the　procession；　the　tall　girls　of　the　first　class；　rose　the　whispered　words—

“Disgusting！　The　porridge　is　burnt　again！”

“Silence！”　ejaculated　a　voice；　not　that　of　Miss　Miller；　but　one　of　the　upper　teachers；　a　little　and　dark　personage；　smartly　dressed；　but　of　somewhat　morose　aspect；　who　installed　herself　at　the　top　of　one　table；　while　a　more　buxom　lady　presided　at　the　other。　I　looked　in　vain　for　her　I　had　first　seen　the　night　before；　she　was　not　visible：　Miss　Miller　occupied　the　foot　of　the　table　where　I　sat；　and　a　strange；　foreign…looking；　elderly　lady；　the　French　teacher；　as　I　afterwards　found；　took　the　corresponding　seat　at　the　other　board。　A　long　grace　was　said　and　a　hymn　sung；　then　a　servant　brought　in　some　tea　for　the　teachers；　and　the　meal　began。

Ravenous；　and　now　very　faint；　I　devoured　a　spoonful　or　two　of　my　portion　without　thinking　of　its　taste；　but　the　first　edge　of　hunger　blunted；　I　perceived　I　had　got　in　hand　a　nauseous　mess；　burnt　porridge　is　almost　as　bad　as　rotten　potatoes；　famine　itself　soon　sickens　over　it。　The　spoons　were　moved　slowly：　I　saw　each　girl　taste　her　food　and　try　to　swallow　it；　but　in　most　cases　the　effort　was　soon　relinquished。　Breakfast　was　over；　and　none　had　breakfasted。　Thanks　being　returned　for　what　we　had　not　got；　and　a　second　hymn　chanted；　the　refectory　was　evacuated　for　the　schoolroom。　I　was　one　of　the　last　to　go　out；　and　in　passing　the　tables；　I　saw　one　teacher　take　a　basin　of　the　porridge　and　taste　it；　she　looked　at　the　others；　all　their　countenances　expressed　displeasure；　and　one　of　them；　the　stout　one；　whispered—

“Abominable　stuff！　How　shameful！”

A　qu