er, and Frank
declined to discuss it with her, after mildly stating that Jack was "a
ninny," in his opinion.

"Well, I know one thing," said Jill confidentially to Snow-ball, when
they were left alone together, "if every one else is scolding him I
won't say a word. It's so mean to crow over people when they are down,
and I'm sure he hasn't done anything to be ashamed of, though he won't
tell."

Snow-ball seemed to agree to this, for he went and sat down by Jack's
slippers waiting for him on the hearth, and Jill thought that a very
touching proof of affectionate fidelity to the little master who ruled
them both.

When he came, it was evident that he had found it harder to refuse his
mother than all the rest. But she trusted him in spite of appearances,
and that was such a comfort! For poor Jack's heart was very full, and he
longed to tell the whole story, but he would not break his promise,
and so kept silence bravely. Jill asked no questions, affecting to be
anxious for the games they always played together in the evening, but
while they played, though the lips were sealed, the bright eyes said as
plainly as words, "I trust you," and Jack was very grateful.

It was well he had something to cheer him up at home, for he got little
peace at school. He bore the grave looks of Mr. Acton meekly, took the
boys' jokes good-naturedly, and withstood the artful teasing of the
girls with patient silence. But it was very hard for the social,
affectionate fellow to bear the general distrust, for he had been such a
favorite he felt the change keenly.

But the thing that tried him most was the knowledge that his report
would not be what it usually was. It was always a happy moment when he
showed it to his mother, and saw her eye brighten as it fell on the 99
or 100, for she cared more for good behavior than for perfect lessons.
Mr. Acton once said that Frank Minot's moral influence in the school was
unusual, and Jack never forgot her pride and delight as she told them
what Frank himself had not known till then. It was Jack's ambition to
have the same said of him, for he was not much of a scholar, and he
had tried hard since he went back to school to get good records in that
respect at least. Now here was a dreadful downfall, tardy marks, bad
company, broken rules, and something too wrong to tell, apparently.

"Well, I deserve a good report, and that's a comfort, though nobody
believes it," he said to himself, trying to keep up h