work, you lazy
fellows, if you want lessons to be finished at ten in the morning!'
A noise came growing up to us from below, up the stairs from the
wet-weather shed, and Heriot burst into the room, old Rippenger after
him, panting.

'Mr. Boddy, you were right,' he cried, 'I find him a prowler, breaking
all rules of discipline. A perverted, impudent rascal! An example shall
be set to my school, sir. We have been falling lax. What! I find
the puppy in my garden whistling--he confesses--for one of my
servants--here, Mr. Boddy, if you please. My school shall see that none
insult me with impunity!' He laid on Heriot like a wind on a bulrush.
Heriot bent his shoulders a trifle, not his head.

'Hit away, sir,' he said, during the storm of blows, and I, through
my tears, imagined him (or I do now) a young eagle forced to bear the
thunder, but with his face to it. Then we saw Boddy lay hands on
him, and in a twinkling down pitched the usher, and the boys
cheered--chirped, I should say, they exulted so, and merely sang out
like birds, without any wilfulness of delight or defiance. After the
fall of Boddy we had no sense of our hero suffering shame. Temple and I
clutched fingers tight as long as the blows went on. We hoped for
Boddy to make another attempt to touch Heriot; he held near the master,
looking ready to spring, like a sallow panther; we kept hoping he would,
in our horror of the murderous slashes of the cane; and not a syllable
did Heriot utter. Temple and I started up, unaware of what we were going
to do, or of anything until we had got a blow a-piece, and were in the
thick of it, and Boddy had us both by the collars, and was knocking our
heads together, as he dragged us back to our seats. But the boys told us
we stopped the execution. Mr. Rippenger addressed us before he left the
school-room. Saddlebank, Salter, and a good many others, plugged
their ears with their fists. That night Boddy and Catman paced in the
bedchambers, to prevent plotting and conspiracy, they said. I longed to
get my arms about Heriot, and thought of him, and dreamed of blood, and
woke in the morning wondering what made me cry, and my arms and back
very stiff. Heriot was gay as ever, but had fits of reserve; the word
passed round that we were not to talk of yesterday evening. We feared he
would refuse to play in the match.

'Why not?' said he, staring at us angrily. 'Has Saddlebank broken his
arm, and can't bowl?'

No, Saddlebank was in ex