Fortunately the village people had gone in to their evening meal, and he would be spared the disgrace of being seen conducted like a culprit to his father. He did not speak a word, nor did the master, but shame and remorse were written on every feature. He felt as if he were a criminal about to receive sentence—a sentence, too, which was deserved, and which justice demanded.
"Well, what now, Herr Professor, is the matter?" asked the father, grimly surveying his son.
"Felix is in trouble again, Mr. Zimmerman."
"Hah! idle as usual—good for nothing—won't study?"
"Yes, a little of all, I am sorry to say. But I have a remedy to propose."
"A thrashing, of course."
"No, once a day is enough. We've tried that; it did not answer in this case as well as it does sometimes. May I have the pleasure of Master Felix's company to supper?"
"What, sir, you want the boy to be rewarded for bad behavior?"
"Not at all—not at all. Run away, Felix; get your face washed and your jacket on, and you shall be my guest for this evening."
Felix was almost too much surprised to be able to move, but without daring to question his father, he did as the master told him. While he was gone, a conversation went on between Mr. Zimmerman and the teacher.