robertson's treachery cried to heaven for judgment.

"Boys of Muirtown, do you see those tablets?"--and Bulldog pointed to
the lists in gold of the former pupils who had distinguished themselves
over the world--prizemen, soldiers, travellers, writers, preachers,
lawyers, doctors. "It's a grand roll, and an honour to have a place in
it, and there are two new names to be added.

"Laddies"--and Bulldog came down from his desk and stood opposite the
culprits, whose one wish was that the floor might open beneath them and
swallow them up--"you are the sons of men, and I knew you had the
beginnings of men in you. I am proud ... to shake hands with you, and to
be ... your master. Be off this instant, run like mad to yir homes and
change yir clothes, and be back inside half an hour, or it will be the
worse for ye! And, look ye here, I would like to know ... how Nestie
is."

His walk through the room was always full of majesty, but on that day it
passed imagination, and from time to time he could be heard in a
soliloquy, "A pair of young rascals! Men of their hands, though, men of
their hands! Their fathers' sons! Well done, Peter!" To which the
benches listened with awe, for never had they known Bulldog after this
fashion.

When the school assembled next Monday morning the boys read in fresh,
shining letters--

"Peter McGuffie and Duncan R. S. Robertson, who at the risk of their own
lives saved a schoolfellow from drowning."

It stood before the school, so that all could see; but if anyone dared
to make a sign in that direction as he passed Speug's desk, his life was
not worth living for seven days, and it was felt that Speug never
completely recovered from the moral disgrace of that day.

NESTIE

III

It was understood that Nestie's mother was dead and that his father was
the Baptist minister of Muirtown--a denomination whose adherents were
few and whose practices were vaguely associated with the mill lade--and
for two years before he appeared at school Nestie and his father were
quite familiar to the boys. Nestie began his education at a ladies'
school, not far from the Seminary, where he was much petted by the big
girls, and his father could be seen waiting for him every afternoon at
dismissal time. A gentle, timid little man, apt to blush on being spoken
to, with a hesitating speech and a suggestion of lasting sorrow in his
eyes, Mr. Molyneux would sooner have faced a cannon than Miss Letitia
MacMuldrow'