ger children had gone out to the room of the assistant
teacher, that she found an opportunity to read Colonel Butler's
letter. It did help her out, as Pen had said it would. She resolved to
act immediately upon the request contained in it, before calling any
classes. She rose in her place.

"I have an unpleasant duty to perform," she said. "I hoped, when I
gave you boys permission to have the snowball fight, that it would
result in permanent peace among you. It has, apparently, served only
to embitter you more deeply against each other. The school colors have
been removed from the building without authority. With those guilty of
this offense I shall deal hereafter. The flag has been abused and
thrown into the slush of the street. As to this I shall not now decide
whose was the greater fault. But one, at least, of those concerned in
such treatment of our colors has realized the seriousness of his
misconduct, and desires to apologize for it, to his teacher, to his
country, to his flag, and to the one who was carrying it at the time
of the assault. Penfield, you may come to the platform."

But Pen did not stir. He sat there as though made of stone, that awful
hiss still sounding in his ears. Miss Grey's voice came to him as from
some great distance. He did not seem to realize what she was saying to
him. She saw his white face, and the vacant look in his eyes, and she
pitied him; but she had her duty to perform.

"Penfield," she repeated, "will you please come to the platform? We
are waiting for your apology."

This time Pen heard her and roused himself. He rose slowly to his
feet; but he did not move from his place. He spoke from where he
stood.

"Miss Grey," he said, "after what has occurred here this morning, I
have decided--not--to--apologize."

He bent over, picked up his books from the desk in front of him,
stepped out into the aisle, walked deliberately down between rows of
astounded schoolmates to the vestibule, put on his cap and coat, and
went out into the street.

No one called him back. He would not have gone if any one had. He
turned his face toward home. Whether or not people looked at him
curiously as he passed, he neither knew nor cared. He had been hissed
in public by his schoolfellows. No condemnation could be more severe
than this, or lead to deeper humiliation. Strong men have quailed
under this repulsive and terrible form of public disapproval. It is
little wonder that a mere schoolboy should b