High Rising

The headmaster’s wife twisted herself round in her chair to talk to Mrs. Morland, who was sitting in the row just behind her.
‘I can’t make out,’ she said reflectively, ‘why all the big boys seem to be at the bottom of preparatory schools and the small ones at the top. All those lower boys who got prizes were quite large, average children, but when we get to the upper forms they all look about seven, and undersized at that. Look at the head of the Remove for instance—he is just coming up the platform steps now.’
Mrs. Morland looked. In front of her was the platform, where the headmaster stood behind a rapidly diminishing pile of prizes. On each side were the assistant masters, wearing such gowns as they could muster. A shrimp-like little boy in spectacles was coming up to get his prizes.