acid features, unruffled by
anything like anger or malice. He felt that he had not even provoked
his powerful adversary. He howled in his anger, and then he cried in
his desperation. Suddenly he seized a wooden belaying-pin from the
rail, and shied it at the boatswain's head. Peaks caught it in his
hand, as though he had been playing toss-ball with his victim; but the
next instant his anaconda fold encircled the youth again. Mrs.
Blacklock screamed with terror.

"There is no harm done, madam," interposed the principal. "We don't
allow boys to throw things here."

"You are very, _very_ harsh with the poor boy."

"And the poor boy is very, very harsh with us. He throws belaying-pins
at our heads."

"He did not mean any harm."

"Perhaps not; but that's an unpleasant way of manifesting his regard."

"I've had enough of this ship! I won't go in her!" howled Clyde,
struggling to escape from the grasp of the officer.

"Do you hear that, sir? Poor boy!"

"He will soon learn better than to behave in this violent manner. We
can cure him in ten minutes after you have left the ship."

"What! whip him?" exclaimed the mother, with horror.

"No, madam; we never strike a student under any circumstances, unless
it be in self-defence; but if a boy won't go when ordered, we carry
him. We always have force enough to do this without injury to the
person."

"But see the poor boy struggle!"

"It will do him no harm."

"He says now that he will not go in the ship."

"If I were his parent, it would be as I said, not as he said, after he
had ceased to be reasonable. I would consult the wishes and opinions
of a boy of mine, as long as he behaved properly--no longer. You have
only to leave him, and I assure you he shall be treated as kindly as
he will permit us to treat him. I do not wish to influence you, but I
am confident that ruin lies in that boy's path, unless he is
reformed."

Mrs. Blacklock actually wept. She loved the boy with a blind affection
in spite of the disrespect and even abuse that he heaped upon her. It
was a terrible struggle to her, but she finally decided to leave him
on board of the ship, perhaps satisfied that nothing else could ever
save him from himself, and her from the misery his reckless conduct
constantly occasioned her.

"You wished to go to sea, Clyde, and I have decided to leave you in
this ship," said the poor mother, trembling with emotion.

"But I tell you I won't stay in this ship," roare