ored man, who was janitor of the academy,
brought in the morning mail, a dozen letters and three or four
newspapers, gave it to Dr. Russell and withdrew on silent feet.

The Doctor was principal of Pendleton Academy, and he always presided
over the room in which sat the larger boys, nearly fifty in number.
His desk and chair were on a low dais and he sat facing the pupils.
He was a large man, with a ruddy face, and thick hair as white as the
snow that was falling outside. He had been a teacher fifty years,
and three generations in Pendleton owed to him most of the learning that
is obtained from books. He opened his letters one by one, and read
them slowly.

Harry moved far away into the German forest with old Tacitus. He was
proud of his Latin and he did not mean to lose his place as first in the
class. The other boys also were absorbed in their books. It was seldom
that all were studious at the same time, but this was one of the rare
moments. There was no shuffling of feet, and fifty heads were bent over
their desks.

It was a full half hour before Harry looked up from his Tacitus.
His first glance was at the window. The snow was driving hard, and the
forest had become a white blur. He looked next at the Doctor and he saw
that the ruddy face had turned white. The old man was gazing intently
at an open letter in his hand. Two or three others had fallen to the
floor. He read the letter again, folded it carefully, and put it in his
pocket. Then he broke the wrapper on one of the newspapers and rapidly
read its columns. The whiteness of his face deepened into pallor.

The slight tearing sound caused most of the boys to look up, and they
noticed the change in the principal's face. They had never seen him
look like that before. It was as if he had received some sudden and
deadly stroke. Yet he sat stiffly upright and there was no sound in the
room but the rustling of the newspaper as he turned its pages.

Harry became conscious of some strange and subtle influence that had
crept into the very air, and his pulse began to leap. The others felt
it, too. There was a tense feeling in the room and they became so still
that the soft beat of the snow on the windows could be heard.

Not a single eye was turned to a book now. All were intent upon the
Doctor, who still read the newspaper, his face without a trace of color,
and his strong white hands trembling. He folded the paper presently,
but still held it i