"Next?"
"Turkey!"
"Next, next, next? Hallo! John Ward," cried the master, starting up in anger from his seat, "what do you mean by that, sir?"
"What, sir?" said John Ward, tremulously, while a suppressed titter ran round the class.
"Your face, sir! Who blacked your face, eh?"
"I—I—don't know," said the boy, drawing his sleeve across his face, which had the effect of covering it with sooty streaks.
An uncontrollable shout of laughter burst from the whole school, which was instantly followed by a silence so awful and profound that a pin might have been heard to fall.
"Martin Rattler, you did that! I know you did,—I see the marks on your fingers. Come here, sir! Now tell me; did you do it?"
Martin Rattler never told falsehoods. His old aunt had laboured to impress upon him from infancy that to lie was to commit a sin which is abhorred by God and scorned by man; and her teaching had not been in vain. The child would have suffered any punishment rather than have told a deliberate lie. He looked straight in the master's face and said, "Yes, sir, I did it."
"Very well, go to your seat, and remain in school during the play-hour."