“I—I—hit it against something black,” he stammered.
“Evidently,” said Mr. Horton. “Dixon, were you in the dressing-room at recess?”
The boy hesitated, glanced half appealingly at the teacher, and then at the boys.
“Would you rather see me alone?” asked Mr. Horton, and as the boy nodded, he signed to Raleigh and Barber to leave the room. Then he said:—
“Dixon, it will be best for you to tell me the whole truth frankly; best for your own sake, I mean.”
“Oh, I’m not thinking about myself, you know,” said Dixon. “It’s—” then he stopped.
“Well?” said Mr. Horton, inquiringly.
“Oh, dear!” said Dixon desperately, “I don’t know what to do,” and putting his head down on his desk, he actually sobbed.
The teacher’s hand was laid kindly on the rough, red hair, as he said:—
“A fault confessed is half forgiven, Dixon, and though this is more than a fault, for it is a most grave and serious matter, yet a frank and full acknowledgment will incline us to deal as leniently as possible with you.”