On the contrary, they insisted that they were being crammed to a shameful extent.
Nor was their conscience reproaching them for their past transgressions.
Of course, they could not help admitting that they had occasionally got into rows lately, but, as every one knew, it was never _their_ fault.
It had always been owing to some accident or piece of bad luck, and it was quite enough to get punished for it, without being expected to reproach themselves for it.
No.

When they came to think of it they didn't see that they had anything to reproach themselves with.

On the whole, they were more to be pitied than blamed.

They invariably meant well, but they never got any credit for their good intentions, while they were everlastingly getting into trouble on account of their ill-luck! The fact of the matter was, these virtuous young gentlemen were suffering from that most painful of maladies--dulness.
They had nothing to do--that is, they had nothing to do but work and play cricket.

The latter was all very well, but even cricket, when it means three practices a day presided over by a strict senior, gets to be a little wearisome.
As for the work--they groaned as they thought of it.