“No; I think he was the most unpopular teacher we ever had. He taught just six weeks. At the end of that time the bigger boys formed a combination and rode him on a rail out of town. He was an ignoramus, and was continually flogging the boys. If he couldn’t find a pretext for punishment he invented one. But he received his deserts. After his ride on a rail he never ventured to come back to Springfield.” Bernard laughed. “I think it must be the same man,” he said.
“I have often wondered what the old fellow was doing,” said Mr. Penrose. “It seems he has stuck to the business of a pedagogue. Now tell me your experience with him.”
This Bernard did. He explained that Mr. Snowdon was now at the head of the Snowdon Institute in the neighboring town of Doncaster.
“Has he many pupils?”
“About eight or ten, but they are boarding pupils.”
“Who placed you there?”
“My guardian, Mr. Cornelius McCracken of New York. I think Mr. Snowdon’s low terms influenced him in the selection of the school. I soon found out that he wasn’t much of a scholar. Besides, he is a tyrant, and tried to bully me.
“He has a son, Septimus, who is a very disagreeable boy, and is continually instigating his father to punish the boys. They are mostly small, and unable to resist injustice. Finally he tackled me, and threatened to horsewhip me.”
“You naturally objected,” said Mr. Penrose, with a smile.
“Yes; I had no idea of allowing myself to be treated in that way. Yesterday I made up my mind to run away. I stopped over night in the barn, and meant to get off early this morning, but was surprised by Septimus, who let his father know where I was. Soon the old man appeared with a horsewhip, and climbed up to the scaffold where I was sleeping on the hay. I woke up in time, and managed to escape, carrying off the ladder, and leaving Mr. Snowdon a prisoner in the hay loft.”