ave seemed leisurely, Chris
was able to detect in the step of his master a certain haste. He came
up to the little group of men, glanced at the back of Zachary Heigh,
who was moving away as if to some interrupted duty, and at Chris's
white face and the reddening handkerchief which he held to his chin.
Mr. Wicker looked slowly at all the faces and then raised his eyebrows
as if in surprise.

"Well, lads," he said, "what has happened here? You all look angry and
somewhat a-frighted. What occurred, Ned?" he asked, addressing Ned
Cilley, whose kind face was puckered with sympathy for Chris and who
stood pulling at the stocking cap he held in his hands. But Chris
spoke up before Ned could reply.

"It was my fault, sir. I expect I got what I deserved, but it seemed
to happen in spite of myself. I laughed at Osterbridge Hawsey's beauty
patch--and at him--all of him, really. We all did. Claggett Chew got
mad, and I guess I wouldn't blame him. It was a dreadful thing to
do--to laugh at someone to their face--and he lashed out with his whip
and gave _me_ a beauty patch!"

In spite of the pain Chris managed a grin as he took the handkerchief
from his chin to bare the deep, cruel cut.

"But truly sir," he ended, "I never saw anything like Osterbridge
Hawsey before. He's a dilly!"

And before they knew it they had all, including even the habitually
grave Mr. Wicker, burst into another shout of laughter. Mr. Wicker
soon stopped, however, and reached back into the pocket in the flap of
his coattails. When he drew out his hand it held a small glass box.
With unhurried gestures Mr. Wicker's fine fingers took off the lid.

"What a fortunate coincidence that I happened by just at this time,"
he said casually, "and that I have with me such an excellent
ointment." Master and pupil looked at one another for a moment, and
there was the hint of a wink in Mr. Wicker's right eye, and the
vestige of an answer from Chris's left.

"This will help to stop the bleeding, my boy," said Mr. Wicker, "and
take away the pain. It hastens the cure," he went on, lightly applying
the ointment to the wound. "In an hour you will scarcely know it
happened," he concluded.

Seeing the color seep back into Chris's cheeks, the men touched their
caps to Mr. Wicker and went back to their interrupted tasks. Ned
Cilley, with his hand on Amos's shoulder, moved off to point out some
detail of the _Mirabelle_, and Chris and Mr. Wicker were left alone.
Mr. Wicker