It was well understood that this
was a command for silence and attention; and when these had been
obtained, the master spoke. He was a low thick-set man, and his name
was Lugare.
"Boys," said he, "I have had a complaint enter'd, that last night some
of you were stealing fruit from Mr. Nichols's garden. I rather think I
know the thief. Tim Barker, step up here, sir."
The one to whom he spoke came forward. He was a slight, fair-looking
boy of about thirteen; and his face had a laughing, good-humor'd
expression, which even the charge now preferr'd against him, and the
stern tone and threatening look of the teacher, had not entirely
dissipated. The countenance of the boy, however, was too unearthly
fair for health; it had, notwithstanding its fleshy, cheerful look, a
singular cast as if some inward disease, and that a fearful one,
were seated within. As the stripling stood before that place of
judgment--that place so often made the scene of heartless and coarse
brutality, of timid innocence confused, helpless child-hood outraged,
and gentle feelings crush' d--Lugare looked on him with a frown
which plainly told that he felt in no very pleasant mood. (Happily a
worthier and more philosophical system is proving to men that schools
can be better govern'd than by lashes and tears and sighs. We are
waxing toward that consummation when one of the old-fashion'd
school-masters, with his cowhide, his heavy birch-rod, and his many
ingenious methods of child-torture, will be gazed upon as a scorn'd
memento of an ignorant, cruel, and exploded doctrine.
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