"Ho, ho! ho! The noble champion of the Gargoyles!"
Paul stood motionless as a statue and as white as one in the midst of the jeering, mocking throng. He made no answer to the jibes, but waited until they had exhausted themselves. It was some time before that happened. At length the cries grew feebler, the wild dancing slackened.
"Well, have you nearly finished?" Paul asked.
"Listen. The noble champion of the Gargoyles is speaking. He's got a tongue," exclaimed the senior who had first spoken.
"And legs as well," said a second.
"And doesn't he know how to use them!" added a third—an observation which drew out another shriek of laughter. From white Paul turned scarlet.
To keep silent under provocation, more especially provocation that is undeserved, is one of the hardest lessons that can be learned, boys and girls. Paul was only a boy, with a boy's impulses, passions, and feelings. But some time was to pass before he was to learn the great lesson of how to keep these passions under perfect control—and many things were to happen in the interval—but he had begun the task. Rough and bitter though the schooling was, in no better way could the lesson have been taught than in that school of adversity through which he was now passing.
"When you've quite finished," said Paul, as they once more came to a pause, "I would like to go on my way."
"Where? To the sand-pit?" came a voice.
"No; he'd rather keep away from that. He'll always give that a pretty wide berth," some one answered.