pened to glance towards them, and
conjectured, by the movement of Willard's lips, that he was violating
the rule against whispering.

"Willard Glazier!" said he, angrily, "come out here, sir!"

The boy obeyed.

"Now then, Willard," said Mr. Nichols, "I presume you understand the
rules of this school?"

"I think I do, sir."

"Very well, then you know that whispering during the hours of study is a
breach of its discipline, and that I must punish you."

Willard said nothing.

"Have you a knife, sir?" pursued the teacher.

"No, sir," replied the boy, not quite certain whether the knife was
wanted for the purpose of scalping him, or merely with a view of
amputating the unruly member which had been the instrument of offence.
"Well, take this one," said Nichols, handing him a five-bladed
pocket-knife, with the large blade open, "go out and cut me a good stout
stick."

The boy by no means relished the prospect this mission suggested, but
seeing no means of escape, he went to a grove in the neighborhood and
cut a stick whose dimensions resembled a young tree--shrewdly suspecting
that Nichols would never venture to use a club of such size.

With this stick he stalked majestically back to the school-room. As he
entered, he saw Henry Abbott standing up in front of the teacher's desk,
and heard him utter these words:

"It is not fair, Mr. Nichols, to flog Willard alone. It was my fault,
sir. I beckoned to Brayton and whispered first. That is what started it.
You should whip me, too, sir."

The master, as we have said, was stern and uncompromising, but his
nature was not entirely devoid of feeling, and as he heard the brave
admission, his eye lighted up with sudden softness.

"Go back to your seats, boys," said he, "I will not flog either of you
to-day. Lads that are brave enough to face the punishment of one offence
as you have done, can, I hope, be trusted not to soon commit another."

The incident was one that raised the tone of the whole school, and it
gave rise to a warm feeling of admiration in Willard Glazier's breast
for Henry Abbott which did Willard good, and made the two youths firm
friends.

Thus the years sped on--dotted with little incidents that seem too
trivial to relate, and yet each one of which had _some_ effect upon the
future life and character of young Willard. He had become a pretty wild
boy by this time, and the cognomen of the "little deacon" was dropped
without ceremony.

Although he wa