'Cann, Peterson, Moonlight,' he called, 'follow me.'
He selected a favourite cane from the rack, and strutted out with the curious boys at his heels.
'Now then, Peterson,' he said, and he paused with artful preoccupation to double his cane over and under, and critically examine the end thereof, 'you are a very observant youth, Peterson; you will tell me how those boys got under the school.'
'Dunno,' said Peterson, assuming the expression of an aged cow.
The master seized him by the collar.
'Peterson, you have the faculty of divination. I give you till I have counted ten to exert it. I am counting, Peterson.'
Very often the schoolmaster's language was Greek to the scholars, but his meaning was never in doubt for a moment.
'Eight, Peterson, nine.'
Peterson slouched along a few yards, and kicked stupidly and resentfully at a loose board.
'Might 'a' got in there,' he growled. 'Why couldn't you 'a' asked
Moonlight?—he don' mind bein' a sneak.'