INDUSTRIOUS REGINALD.
The boys, who had been gathering round Reginald, admiring his spirit in confronting the tall boy, now drew back, and the words “tell-tale!” “blab!” “sneak!” were distinctly heard. And Reginald found himself standing alone, deserted by those who had drawn near in sympathy with him, for Thompson was the tyrant of the school.
Presently, when the boys had returned to their places by the fire, and Reginald was apparently forgotten, a merry-looking boy a year older than himself sat down by him.
“No,” said he; “you must not say anything to Dr. Field. You must let your knife go, and learn wisdom for the future.”
Reginald looked up.
“It’s mean and unfair,” he said.
“That may be, but the boys would say it was meaner still to complain. One has to put up with things of this sort at school, and make the best of them.”
“What’s your name?” asked Reginald, suddenly, for there was something about the boy that he liked, and he thought this might be the one who was to be his friend.
“Barton. And yours?”