S t u d e n t s   a t   W o r k

    IT was the custom of the pupils in the Goosepond, as in most of the other country schools of those times, to study aloud. Whether the teachers thought that the mind could not act unless the tongue was going, or that the tongue going was the only evidence that the mind was acting, it never did appear. Such had been the custom, and Mr. Meadows did not aspire to be an innovator.¹⁴

 

	P u n i s h m e n t

It was his rule, however, that there should be perfect silence on his arrival, in order to give him an opportunity of saying or doing anything he might wish. This morning there did not seem to be anything heavy on his mind which required to be lifted off. He, however, looked at Brinkly Glisson with an expression of some disappointment. He had beaten him the morning before for not having gotten there in time, though the boy's excuse was that he had gone a mile out of his way on an errand for his mother. He looked at him as if he had expected to have had some business with him, which now unexpectedly had to be postponed.

 

	S t u d e n t s   a t   W o r k

He then looked around over the school, and said:
    "Go to studyin'."
     He had been in the habit of speaking but to command, and of commanding but to be obeyed. Instantaneously was heard, then and there, that unintelligible tumult, the almost invariable incident of the country schools of that generation. There were spellers and readers, geographers and arithmeticians, all engaged in their several pursuits, in the most inexplicable confusion. Sometimes the spellers would have the heels of the others, and sometimes the readers. The geographers were always third, and the arithmeticians always behind. It was very plain to be seen that these last never would catch the others. The faster they added or subtracted, the oftener they had to rub out and commence anew. It was always but a short time before they found this to be the case, and so they generally concluded to adopt the maxim of the philosopher, of being slow in making haste. The geographers were a little faster and a little louder. But the spellers and readers had it, I tell you. Each speller and each reader went through the whole gamut of sounds, from low up to high, and from high down to low again; sometimes by regular ascension and descension, one note at a time, sounding what musicians call the diatonic intervals; at other times, going up and coming down upon the perfect fifths only. It was refreshing to see the passionate eagerness which these urchins manifested for the acquisition of knowledge! To have heard them for the first time, one might possibly have been reminded of the Apostles' preaching at Pentecost, when were spoken the languages of the Parthians and Medes, Elamites and the dwellers in Mesopotamia, and in Judea and Cappadocia; in Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia; in Egypt and in the parts of Syria about Cyrene; and strangers of Rome, Jews and Proselytes, Cretes and Arabians. Sometimes these jarring tongues subsided a little, when half a dozen or so would stop to blow; but in the next moment the chorus would swell again in a new and livelier accrescendo. When this process had gone on for half an hour, Mr. Meadows lifted up his voice and shouted, "SILENCE!" and all was still.
    Now were to commence the recitations, during which stillness like that of death was required. For as great a help to study as this jargon was, Mr. Meadows found that it did not contribute any aid to the doing of his work.
    He now performed an interesting feat. He put his hand behind the lapel of his coat-collar, and then, after withdrawing it, and holding it up, his thumb and forefinger joined together, he said:
    "There is too much fuss here. I'm going to drop this pin, and I shall whip every single one of you little boys that don't hear it when it falls. Thar!"
    "I heerd it, Mr. Meadows! I heerd it, Mr. Meadows!" exclaimed, simultaneously, five or six little fellows.
    "Come up here, you little rascals. You are a liar!" said he to each one. "I never drapped it; I never had nary one to drap. It just shows what liars you are. Set down and wait awhile, I'll show you how to tell me lies."
    The little liars slunk to their seats, and the recitations commenced. Memory was the only faculty of mind that got development at this school. Whoever could say exactly what the book said was adjudged to know his lesson. About half of the pupils on this morning were successful. The other half were found to be delinquent. Among these was Asa Boatright. That calculating young gentleman knew his words and felt safe. The class had spelled around three or four times, when lo! the contingency which Allen Thigpen had suggested did come to pass. Betsy Wiggins missed her word; Heneritter Bangs (in the language of Allen) hern, and Mandy Grizzle hern; and thus responsibilities were suddenly cast upon Asa which he was wholly unprepared to meet, and which, from the look of mighty reproach that he gave each of these young ladies as she handed over her word, he evidently thought it the height of injustice that he should have been called upon to meet. Mr. Meadows, closing the book, tossed it to Asa, who, catching it as it was falling at his feet, turned, and his eyes swimming with tears, went back to his seat. As he passed Allen Thigpen, the latter whispered:
    "What did I tell you? You heerd the pin drap too!"
    Now, Allen was in no plight to have given this taunt to Asa. He had not given five minutes' study to his arithmetic during the whole morning. But Mr. Meadows made a rule (this one with himself, though all the pupils knew it better than any rule he had) never to allow Allen to miss a lesson; and as he had kindly taken this responsibility upon himself, Allen was wont to give himself no trouble about the matter.
    Brinkly Glisson was the last to recite. Brinkly was no great hand at pronunciation. He had been reading but a short time when Mr. Meadows advanced him into geography, with the purpose, as Brinkly afterward came to believe, of getting the half-dollar extra tuition. This morning he thought he knew his lesson; and he did, as he understood it. When called to recite, he went up with a countenance expressive of mild happiness, handed the book to Mr. Meadows, and, putting his hands in his pockets, awaited the questions. And now it was an interesting sight to see Mr. Meadows smile as Brinkly talked of is-lands and promonitaries, thismuses and hemispheries. The lad misunderstood that smile, and his heart was glad for the unexpected reception of a little complacency from the master. But he was not long in error.
    "Is-lands, eh? Thismuses, eh? Take this book and see if you can find any is-lands and promonitaries, and then bring them to me. I want to see them things, I do. Find 'em, if you please."
    Brinkly took the book, and it would have melted the heart of any other man to see the deep despair of his heart as he looked on it and was spelling over to himself the words as he came to them.
    "Mr. Meadows," he said, in pleading tones, "I thought it was is-land. Here it is, I-s-is-l-a-n-d-land: is-land; " and he looked into his face beseechingly.
    "Is-land, eh? Is-land. Now, thismuses and promonitaries and hemispheries-"
    "Mr. Meadows, I did not know how to pronounce them words. I asked you how to pronounce 'em, and you wouldn't tell me; and I asked Allen, and he told me the way I said them."
    "I believe that to be a lie." Brinkly's face reddened, and his breathing was fast and hard. He looked at the master as but once or twice before during the term, but made no answer. At that moment Allen leaned carelessly on his desk, his elbows resting on it, and his chin on his hands, and said dryly:
    "Yes, I did tell him so."
    The man reddened a little. After a moment's pause, however, he said: "How often have I got to tell you not to ask anybody but me how to pronounce words? That'll do, sir; set down, sir."
    Brinkly went back to his seat, and, looking gloomily toward the door a minute or two, he opened his book, but studied it no more.

 

	P u n i s h m e n t   &   R e v e n g e

    MR. MEADOWS now set about what was the most agreeable portion of the duties of his new vocation, the punishment of offenders. The lawyers tell us that, of all the departments of the law, the vindicatory is the most important. This element of the Goosepond establishment had been cultivated so much that it had grown beyond all reasonable proportion to the others. As for the declaratory and the directory, they seemed to be considered, when clearly understood, as impediments to a fair showing and proper development of the vindicatory, insomuch that the last was often by their means disappointed of its victim. Sometimes, when his urchins would not "miss," or violate some of his numerous laws, Mr. Meadows used, in the plenitude of his power, to put the vindicatory first -- punish an offender, declare what the latter had done to be an offense and then direct him that he had better not do so any more. Mr. Meadows, indeed, seemed to owe a grudge to society. Whether this was because society had not given him a father as it had done to almost everybody else, or because it had interfered in the peaceful occupation which had descended from his grandfather (as if to avenge itself on him for violating one of its express commands that such as he should inherit from nobody), did not appear.
    But he owed it, and he delighted in paying it off in his peculiar way; this was by beating the children of his school, every one of whom had a father. Eminently combative by nature, it was both safest and most satisfactory to wage his warfare on this general scale. So, on this fine morning, by way of taking up another instalment of this immense debt, which like most other debts seemed as if it never would get fully paid, he took down his bundle of rods from two pegs in one of the logs on which he had placed them, selected one fit for his purpose, and taking his position in the middle of the space between the fireplace and the rows of desks, he sat down in his chair. A moderate smile overspread his countenance as he said:
    "Them spellin' classes and readin' classes, and them others that's got to be whipped, all but Sam Pate and Asa Boatright, come to the circus."¹⁵
    Five or six boys and as many girls, from eight to thirteen years old, came up, and, sitting down on the front bench which extended all along the length of the two rows of desks, pulled off their shoes and stockings. The boys then rolled up their pants, and the girls lifted the skirts of their frocks to their knees, and, having made a ring around the master as he sat in his chair, all began a brisk trot. They had described two or three revolutions, and he was straightening his switch, when Asa Boatright ran up, and, crying piteously, said:
    "Please, sir, Mr. Meadows -- oh pray do, sir, Mr. Meadows -- let me go into the circus!"
    Mr. Meadows rose and was about to strike; but another thought seemed to occur to him. He looked at him amusedly for a moment, and pointed to his seat. Asa took it. Mr. Meadows resumed his chair, and proceeded to tap the legs, both male and female, as they trotted around him. This was done at first very gently, and almost lovingly. But as the sport warmed in interest, the blows increased in rapidity and violence. The children began to cry out, and then he struck the harder; for it was a rule (oh! he was a mighty man for rules, this same Mr. Meadows) that whoever cried the loudest should be hit the hardest. He kept up this interesting exercise until he had given them about twenty-five lashes apiece. He then ceased. They stopped instantly, walked around him once, then, seating themselves upon the bench, they resumed their shoes and stockings, and went to their seats. One girl, thirteen years old, Henrietta Bangs, had begged him to let her keep on her stockings; but he was too firm a disciplinarian to allow it. When the circus was over she put on her shoes, and, taking up her stockings and putting them under her apron, she went to her seat and sobbed as if her heart were broken.¹⁶
    Allen Thigpen looked at her for a moment, and then he turned his eyes slowly around and looked at Brinkly Glisson. He sat with his hands in his pockets and his lips compressed. Allen knew what struggle was going on, but he could not tell how it would end. Mr. Meadows rested three minutes.
    It has possibly occurred to those who may be reading this little history that it was a strange thing in Asa Boatright, who so well knew all the ways of Mr. Meadows, that he should have expressed so decisive a wish to take part in this last described exhibition -- an exhibition which, however entertaining to Mr. Meadows as it doubtless was and might be perchance to other persons placed in the attitude of spectators merely, could not be in the highest degree agreeable to one in the attitude which Master Asa must have foreseen that he would be made to assume had Mr. Meadows vouchsafed to yield to his request. But Asa Boatright was not a fool, nor was he a person who had no care for his physical well-being. In other words, Asa Boatright knew what he was about.
    "Sam Pate and Asa Boatright!" exclaimed Mr. Meadows, after his rest. "Come out here and go to horsin'."
    The two nags came out. Master Pate inclined himself forward, and Master Boatright leaped with some agility upon his back. The former, gathering the latter's legs under his arms, and drawing as tightly as possible his pants across his middle, began galloping gayly around the area before the fireplace. Mr. Meadows, after taking a fresh hickory, began to apply it with force and precision to that part of Master Boatright's little body which in his present attitude was most exposed. Every application of this kind caused that young gentleman to scream, and even to make spasmodic efforts to kick, which Master Pate, being for the occasion a horse, was to understand as an expression on the part of his rider that he should get on faster, and so Master Pate must frisk and prance and otherwise imitate a horse as well as possible in the circumstances. Now, the circumstances being that as soon as Master Boatright should have ridden long enough to become incapacitated from riding a real horse with comfort, they were to reverse positions, Master Boatright becoming horse and himself rider, they were hardly sufficient to make him entirely forget his identity in the personation of that quadruped. He did his best, though, in the circumstances, and not only frisked and pranced, but neighed several times. When Asa was placed in the condition hinted at above, he was allowed to dismount. Sam having mounted on his back, it was stirring to the feelings to see the latter kick and the former prance. This was always the best part of the show. A rule of this exercise was that, when the rider should dismount and become horse, he was to act well his part or be made to resume the part of rider -- a prospect not at all agreeable, each one decidedly preferring to be horse. Sam was about three years older and fifteen pounds heavier than Asa. Now, while Asa had every motive which as sensible a horse as he was could have to do his best, yet he was so sore, and Sam, with the early prospect of butting his brains out, was so heavy, that he had great difficulties. He exhibited the most laudable desire and made the most faithful efforts to prance, but he could not keep his feet. Finding that he could do no great things at prancing, he endeavored to make up by neighing. When Sam would cry out and kick, Asa would neigh. He would occasionally run against the wall and neigh as if he were delighted. He would lift up one foot and neigh. He would put it down, lift up the other and neigh. Then when he attempted to lift up both feet at once, he would fall down and neigh. Again would he neigh even in the act of rising, apparently resolved to convince the world that, notwithstanding appearances to the contrary, he was as plucky a little horse as had ever trotted. Never before had Asa acted his part so well in the horsin' at the Goosepond. Never had horse, with such odds on his back, neighed so lustily. Sam screamed and kicked. Asa pranced and neighed, until at last, as he stumbled violently against the bench, Sam let go his hold upon his neck, in order to avoid breaking his own, and fell sprawling on his belly under a desk. This sudden removal of the burden from Asa's back made his efforts to recover from his false step successful beyond all calculation, and he fell backward, head-foremost, upon the floor. Mr. Meadows, contrary to his wont, roared with laughter. He dropped his switch, and ordered them to their seats. They obeyed, and sat down with that graduated declension of body in which experience had taught them to be prudent.

CHAPTER VI
    AFTER the close of the last performance, Mr. Meadows seemed to need another resting spell. He always liked to be as fresh as possible for the next scene. The most interesting, the most exciting, and in some respects the most delightful exercise was yet to follow. This was the punishment of Brinkly Glisson.
    Now, Brinkly was one of the best boys in the world. He was the only son of a poor widow, who, at much sacrifice, had sent him to school. He had pitched and tended the crop of a few acres around the house, and she had procured the promise of a neighbor to help her in gathering it when ripe. Brinkly was the apple of her eye, the idol of her heart. He was to her as we always think of him of whom it was said, "He was the only son of his mother, and she was a widow." And Brinkly had rewarded her love and care with all the feelings of his honest, affectionate heart. He was more anxious to learn for her sake than his own. He soon came to read tolerably well, and was advanced to geography. How proud was the widow when she bought the new geography and atlas with the proceeds of four pairs of socks which she had knit with her own hands. What a world of knowledge, she thought, there must be in a book with five times as many pages as a spelling-book, and in those great red, blue, and pink pictures, covering a whole page a foot square, and all this knowledge to become the property of Brinkly! But Brinkly soon found that geography was above his present capacity, and so told Mr. Meadows. That gentleman received the communication with displeasure; said that what was the matter with him was laziness, and that laziness, of all the qualities which a boy had, was the one which he knew best what to do with. He then took to beating him. Brinkly, after the first beating, which was a light one, went home and told his mother of it, and intimated his intention not to take another. The widow was sorely distressed, and knew not what to do. On the one hand was her grief to know her son was unjustly beaten, and his spirit cowed; for she knew that he studied all the time he had, and, though uneducated herself, she was not like many other parents of her day who thought that the best means to develop the mind was to beat the body. But on the other hand would be his failing to obtain an education if he should leave the school, there being then no other in the neighborhood. This, thought the poor woman, was the worst horn of the dilemma; and so she wept, and begged him, as he loved her, to submit. He should have the more time for study; she would chop the wood and feed the stock; he should have all the time at home to himself; he could get it, she knew he could; it would come to him after awhile.¹⁷
    Brinkly yielded; but how many a hard struggle he made to continue that submission no one knew but he. Mr. Meadows could see this struggle sometimes. He knew that the boy was not afraid of him. He saw it in his eye every time he beat him, and it was this which imparted such eagerness to continue. He wished to subdue him, and he had not succeeded. Brinkly would never beg nor weep. Mr. Meadows often thought he was on the point of resisting him; but he knew the reason why he did not, and, while he hated him for it, he trusted that it would last. Yet he often doubted whether it would or not; and thus the matter became so intensely exciting that he continually sought for opportunities of bringing it up. He loved to tempt him. He had no doubt but that he could easily manage him in an even combat; but he did not wish it to come to that. He only gloried in goading him almost to resistance, and then seeing him yield.
    Have we not all seen how the showman adapts himself to the different animals of the menagerie? How quickly and sharply he speaks to the lesser animals, which jump over his wand and back, and over and back again, and then crouch in submission as he passes by! But when he goes to the lion, you can scarcely hear his low tones as he commands him to rise and perform his part, and is not certain whether the king of the beasts will do as he is bidden or not. Doubts like these were in the mind of Mr. Meadows whenever he was about to set upon Brinkly Glisson; but, the greater these doubts, the more he enjoyed the trial. After a short rest from the fatigues of the last exercise, during which he curiously and seriously eyed the lad, he rose from his seat, paced slowly across the room once or twice, and taking a hickory switch, the longest of all he had, he stopped in the middle of the floor, and in a low, quiet tone, said:
    "Brinkly Glisson, come."
    Allen had been eying Brinkly all the time since the close of the circus. He noted the conflict which was going on in his soul, and he thought he saw that the conflict was going to end.
    Slowly and calmly Brinkly rose from his seat, and walked up and stood before Mr. Meadows.
    "Why, hi!" thought Allen.
    "Off with your coat, sir" -- low and gentle, and with a countenance almost smiling. Brinkly stood motionless. But he had done so once or twice before, in similar circumstances, and at length had yielded. "Off with it, sir" -- louder and not so gentle. No motion on Brinkly's part, not even in his eyes, which looked steadily into the master's, with a meaning which he nearly, but not quite, understood.
    "Ain't you going to pull off that coat, sir?"
    "What for?" asked Brinkly.
    "What for, sir?"
    "Yes, sir; what for?"
    "Because I am going to give you this hickory, you impudent scoundrel; and if you don't pull it off this minute, I'll give you sich a beatin' as'll make you feel like you never was whipped before since you was born. Ain't you going to pull it off, sir?"
    "Not now, sir?"
    Allen wriggled on his seat, and his face shone as the full moon. Mr. Meadows retreated a step, and holding his switch two feet from the larger end, he raised that end to strike.
    "Stop one minute, if you please."
    Mr. Meadows lowered his arm, and his face smiled a triumph. This was the first time Brinkly had ever begged. He chuckled. Allen looked disappointed.
    "Stop, eh? I yi! This end looks heavy, does it? Well, I wouldn't be surprised if it warn't sorter heavy. Will you pull off your coat now, sir?"
    "Mr. Meadows, I asked you to stop because I wanted to say a few words to you. You have beat me and beat me, worse than you ought to beat a dog" (Allen's face getting right again); "and God in heaven knows that, in the time that I have come to school to you, I have tried as hard as a boy ever did to please you and get my lessons. I can't understand that jography, and I ain't been readin' long enough to understand it. I have asked you to let me quit. Mother has asked you. You wouldn't do it; but beat me, and beat me, and beat me" (there is no telling whether Allen wants to laugh or cry),"and now, the more I study it, the more I don't understand it. I would have quit school long ago, but mother was so anxious for me to learn, and made me come. And now I have took off my coat to you the last time." (Ah! now there is a great tear in Allen's eye.) "Listen to me" (as the teacher's hand makes a slight motion); "don't strike me. I know I'm not learnin' anything, and your beatin' ain't going to make me learn any faster. If you are determined to keep me in this jography, and to beat me, just say so, and I'll take my hat and books and go home. I'd like to not come today, but I thought I knew my lesson. Now, I say again, don't, for God's sake, don't strike me." And he raised up both his hands, pale and trembling.
    It would be impossible to describe the surprise and rage expressed on the face of Mr. Meadows during the delivery and at the close of this little harangue. He looked at the boy a moment. Brinkly's countenance expressed the deepest sadness; but there was nothing it like defiance or threatening. It was simply sad and beseeching. The master hesitated, and looked around upon his school. It would not do to retreat now, he thought. With an imprecation, he raised his switch and struck with all his might.
    "My God!" cried the boy; but in an instant sadness and beseeching passed from his face. The long-pent-up resentment of his soul gushed forth, and the fury of a demon glared from his eyes. He was preparing to spring upon Mr. Meadows, when the latter, by a sudden rush, caught him and thrust him backward over the front bench. They both tumbled on the floor, between the rows of desks, Mr. Meadows uppermost.
    "It's come," said Allen quietly, as he rose and looked down upon the combatants; "it's been a long time acomin', and by good rights ought to a come long ago; but it's come now."
    Mr. Meadows attempted to disengage himself and rise; but Brinkly would rise with him. After several attempts at this, Brinkly managed to get upon one knee, and, by a violent jerk, to bring his assailant down upon the floor, where they were, in the phraseology of the wrestling-ring, cross and pile. Mr. Meadows shouted to two or three of the boys to hold Brinkly until he could rise. They rose to obey, but Allen, without saying a word, put out his hand before them, and, motioning them to their seats, they reassumed them. And now the contest set in for good, Mr. Meadows struggling to recover his advantage, and Brinkly to improve what he had gained. The former's right arm was thrown across the latter's neck, his right hand wound in and pulling violently his hair, while his left hand pressed against his breast. Brinkly's left leg was across Mr. Meadows' middle, and with his right against a stationary desk, his right arm bent and lying under him like a lizard's, and his left in Mr. Meadows' shirt-collar, he struggled to get uppermost; but whenever he attempted to raise his head, that hand wound in his hair would instantly bring it back to the floor. When Mr. Meadows attempted to disengage himself from underneath Brinkly's leg, that member, assisted by its brother from the desk, against which it was pressed, held it like the boa holds the bullock. Oh, Mr. Meadows, Mr. Meadows! you don't know the boy that grapples with you. You have never known anything at all about him. You blow, Mr. Meadows! See! Brinkly blows not half so hard. Remember, you walk a mile to and from the school, and Brinkly seven, often running the first half. Besides, there is something in Brinkly's soul which will not let him tire now. The remembrance of long-continued wrongs, that cannot longer be borne; the long-subdued but now inextinguishable desire of revenge; every hostile feeling except fear -- all these are now dominant in that simple heart, and they have made of him a man, and if you hope to conquer you must fight as you never have fought before, and never may have to fight again.
    Your right hand pulls less vigorously at the hair of Brinkly's ascending head. Look there! Brinkly's leg has moved an inch further across you! Wring and twist, Mr. Meadows, for right under that leg, if anywhere for you, is now the post of honor. Can't you draw out your left leg and plant it against the desk behind you, as Brinkly does with his right? Alas! no. Brinkly has now made a hook of his left, and his heel is pressing close into the cavity behind your knee. Ah! that was an unlucky move for you then, when you let Brinkly's hair go, and thrust both of your hands at his eyes. You must have done that in a passion. But see there, now! he has released his grasp at your shirt-collar, and thrown his left arm over you. Good-morning to you now, Mr. Meadows!
    In the instant that Mr. Meadows had released his hold upon his hair, Brinkly, though he was being gouged terribly, released his hold upon his collar, threw his arm over his neck, and pushing with all his might with his right leg against the desk, and making a corresponding pull with his left, he succeeded in getting fully upon him; then, springing up quick as lightning, as Mr. Meadows, panting, his eyes gleaming with the fury of an enraged tiger, was attempting to rise, he dealt him a blow in the face with his fist which sent him back bleeding like a butchered beast. Once more the master attempted to rise, and those who saw it will never forget that piteous spectacle of rage, and shame, and pain, and fear. Once more Brinkly struck him back. How that boy's face shone out with those gaudia certaminis which the brave always feel when in the midst of an inevitable and righteous combat! Springing upon his adversary again, and seizing his arms and pinioning them under his knees, he wound his hands in his shaggy hair, and raising his head, thrust it down several times with all his might against the floor.
    "Spare me! for God's sake, spare me!" cried Mr. Meadows, in tones never before heard from him in that house.
    Brinkly stopped. "Spare you!" he said, now panting himself. "Yes! you who never spared anything that you could hurt! Poor coward! You loved to beat other people, and gloried in seeing them suffering, and when they begged you to spare them, you laughed -- you did. Oh, how I have heard you laugh, when they asked you to spare them! And now, beat yourself and whipped, you beg like a dog. Yes, and I will spare you," he continued, rising from him. "It would be a pity to beat any such a poor cowardly human any longer. Now go! and make them poor things there go to horsin' again, and cut 'em in two again! and then get in the circus ring, and make them others, girls and all -- yes, girls and all -- hold up their clothes and trot around you, and when they cry like you, and beg you to spare 'em, do you laugh again!"
    He rose and turned away from him. Gathering up his books, he went to the peg whereon his hat was hanging, and was in the act of taking it down, when a sudden revulsion of feeling came over him, and he sat down and wept and wept.
    The feelings in that poor boy's breast! The recollection of the wrongs he had suffered; of the motives, so full of pious duty, which had made him endure them; the thought of how mistaken had been the wish of his mother that he should endure them; and then of how terribly they had been avenged: these all meeting at once in his gentle, untaught spirit, overcame it, and broke it into weeping.
    Meanwhile, other things were going on. Mr. Meadows, haggard, bruised, bleeding, covered with dirt, slunk off toward the fireplace, sat down in his chair, and buried his face in his hands. The pupils had been in the highest states of alternate alarm and astonishment. They were now all standing about their seats, looking alternately at Brinkly and Mr. Meadows, but at the latter mostly. Their countenances plainly indicated that this was a sight which, in their minds, had never before been vouchsafed to mortal vision. A schoolmaster whipped! beat! choked! his head bumped! and that by one of his pupils! And that schoolmaster Mr. Meadows! -- Mr. Meadows, who, ten minutes before, had been in the exercise of sovereign and despotic authority! And then to hear him beg! A schoolmaster! -- Mr. Meadows! -- to hear him actually beg Brinkly to spare him! They actually began to feel not only pity, but some resentment at what had been done. They were terrified, and to some extent miserable, at the sight of so much power, so much authority, so much royalty dishonored and laid low. Brinkly seemed to them to have been transformed. He was a murderer! a REGIClDE! ! Talk of the divine right of kings! There was never more reverence felt for it than the children in country schools felt for the kingly dignity of the schoolmaster of sixty years agone.¹⁸

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