Poor Walter had fallen from the clouds. That sounded quite different from a papal appointment—which he really no longer cared for, as he had just received another appointment that pleased him better.
His mother wanted to pass immediately to what she called her “divine worship” and give him a sound thrashing, in order to satisfy the teacher that religion and morality took the first place in her house, too.
But the teacher found it preferable to tell the party what the trouble was, and incidentally to strengthen the feeling of guilt in the patient.
“Your son belongs to the class of robbers, murderers, ravishers of women, incendiaries——”
That was all.
“Holy grace! Heavenly righteousness! Compassionate Christian souls! Ah, divine and human virtue, is it possible! What must we endure!”
I cannot always be exact; but, in general, such was the flood of exclamations that all but swept away that ten-year-old robber, murderer, ravisher of women and incendiary.
“I am going to read you something from his hand,” said the teacher, “and then if anybody still doubts the boy’s viciousness——”
All tacitly promised to have no doubts.
The work that the teacher read was indeed of such a nature as to leave small room for doubts; and I, who have chosen Walter for my hero, anticipate difficulty in convincing the reader that he was not so bad as he seemed—after his