"But, Mr. Crane," protested Ward, "the fellow knew he'd done wrong. He wasn't trying to crawl."
"Perhaps so, but it is also possible that he thought he ought to be praised unduly for simply turning about and doing his duty. In the main, Hill, boys are just; and while doubtless injustice creeps in at times, it is still true that if a fellow has trouble, he ought not only to think of that, but of what he may be doing to bring it upon himself."
"Then you think the boy ought to keep still and let his room be stacked every day, do you?"
"Not at all; I want him to cure that in the right way, but I want him also to think not only of the stacking, but of the reason for its being stacked."
"It was stacked because he broke with the fellows he'd been going with," said Ward bitterly.
"In part, yes; but in part, no. Think it over, Hill, and come and see me again in a week."
"Good-night, Mr. Crane," said Ward somewhat abruptly, as he left the room.
He felt hurt and humiliated. Somehow he had thought Mr. Crane would speak very differently. Was that to be the reward for trying to do better? It seemed to him that he had been abused and misunderstood, and in no very amiable frame of mind Ward walked back to West Hall.
CHAPTER XIII
A FAITHFUL FRIEND