Nichols's
garden-fence. It was this bag that Tim had been seen staggering under,
and which caused the unlucky boy to be accused and convicted by
his teacher as a thief. That teacher was one little fitted for his
important and responsible office. Hasty to decide, and inflexibly
severe, he was the terror of the little world he ruled so
despotically. Punishment he seemed to delight in. Knowing little of
those sweet fountains which in children's breasts ever open quickly at
the call of gentleness and kind words, he was fear'd by all for
his sternness, and loved by none. I would that he were an isolated
instance in his profession.
The hour of grace had drawn to its close, and the time approach'd at
which it was usual for Lugare to give his school a joyfully-receiv'd
dismission. Now and then one of the scholars would direct a furtive
glance at Tim, sometimes in pity, sometimes in indifference or
inquiry. They knew that he would have no mercy shown him, and though
most of them loved him, whipping was too common there to exact much
sympathy. Every inquiring glance, however, remain'd unsatisfied, for
at the end of the hour, Tim remain'd with his face completely hidden,
and his head bow'd in his arms, precisely as he had lean'd himself
when he first went to his seat. Lugare look'd at the boy occasionally
with a scowl which seem'd to bode vengeance for his sullenness. At
length the last class had been heard, and the last lesson recited,
and Lugare seated himself behind his desk on the platform, with his
longest and stoutest ratan before him.
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