ms. Forrester is a mischievous boy, and Jeffreys, who
you know is rather a lout, seems to have been his special butt. I am
afraid, too, that Jeffreys' short temper rather encouraged his
tormentors."

"Yes, but about the accident," said Mr Frampton; "you were on the
ground, you know. Did you notice anything then?"

"There was a little horseplay as the sides were changing over at half-
time. Forrester, among others, was taunting Jeffreys with a bad piece
of play, and threw something at him. I was rather struck by the look
almost of fury which passed across Jeffreys' face. But it seemed to me
he got better of his feelings with an effort and went on without heeding
what was said to him."

"That was not long before the accident?"

"About a quarter of an hour. His run down the field at the last was
really a good piece of play, and every one seemed surprised. But there
was any amount of room and time to get past Forrester instead of
charging right on to him. It's possible, of course, he may have lost
his head and not seen what he was doing."

Mr Frampton shrugged his shoulders.

"Well," said he with a dejected look, "I wish you could have told me
anything but what you have. At any rate, to-morrow morning the matter
must be faced and decided upon. Jeffreys is unpopular in the school, is
he not?"

"Most unpopular," said Mr Freshfield.

"That will make our responsibility all the greater," said the head-
master. "He will have every one's hand against him."

"And you may be quite certain he will do himself injustice. He always
does. But what of Forrester?"

"He is conscious, and has taken some nourishment; that is all I can say,
except, indeed," added Mr Frampton, with a groan, "that if he lives the
doctor says it will be as a cripple."

The day dragged wearily on, and night came at last. Most of the boys,
worn-out with their last night's vigil, went to bed and slept soundly.
The doctor, too, leaving his patient in the charge of a trained nurse,
specially summoned, returned home, reporting hopefully of the case as he
departed.

In two studies at Bolsover that night, however, there was no rest. Far
into the night Mr Frampton paced to and fro across the floor. His
hopes and ambitions had fallen like a house of cards. The school he had
been about to reform and regenerate had sunk in one day lower than ever
before. There was something worse than dry-rot in it now. But Mr
Frampton was a brave man; and