immediately thirty boys and girls leaped to their feet and windows went up with a bang.

"i think," mr. johnson's voice was heard above the din, "it would be a good plan to start a fire in that big stove. this place is positively vault like with dampness."

a number of the boys ran out to gather kindling and wood and soon a fire was crackling in the stove.

"pupils will now take their seats," commanded the teacher, tinkling the bell on his desk. there was a hurried scramble as each boy and girl found his and her place.

"we will now have—" resumed the teacher, then paused to glare angrily at the stove. from every crack in its rusty sides was pouring forth a whitish-yellow smoke that gripped the throat and smelled like a breath from the very pit of darkness. mr. johnston attempted to proceed and failed dismally. he was choking, as was every boy and girl in the room.

it was billy wilson who acted promptly. running to the stove he opened the door and lifted out the blazing wood and, at the risk of scorching himself badly, ran with it from the room.

it was nearly half an hour before mr. johnston summoned the boys and girls from the open windows to their seats. the room still smelled strongly of sulphur, but one might still breathe and live.

in the interval of waiting for the air to clear the new teacher's face had turned a ghastly white. his black eyes blazed; his thin lips were drawn back from his strong, irregular teeth. gazing upon him, the boys and girls quaked in apprehension. their fears were well founded. never before in all his long career in administering knowledge to grubby and inferior minds had mr. g. g. johnston been subject to such deadly insult as had been offered him here. it was fully a minute before he could command his voice sufficiently to speak and when he did the words trickled through his stiff lips thinly.

"boys and girls," he said at length, "one or more of you have been guilty of the most unpardonable misdemeanor that has ever come under my observation as a teacher. i realize that the dirty trick has been deliberately planned, the motive being perhaps to test me. you may believe me when i inform you that the one who placed that sulphur in the stove will have plenty of reason to regret having done it. i intend to flog him—or her—until he—or she—cannot stand. i shall now ask the one who is guilty of the offense to stand up."

nobody stood. anson was on the point of jumping to his feet and telling who had brought the sulphur into the room but, on second thought, sat still. the teacher had asked who had put it in the stove. certainly it had not been fatty watland, because he had gone on an errand for the teacher long before the fire was started.

mr. johnston smiled darkly and nodded. "as i thought. the one who did it is too much of a coward to confess it," he grated, his voice shaking. "well, there remains but one thing to do. if the guilty party is to be punished, i must punish you one and all."

there was the sound of the quick intaking of breath, and an audible long-drawn "oh!" from the girls.

"i must punish each and every one of you," mr. johnston reiterated, picking up the pointer. "i shall begin on the boy who is smiling so defiantly in the back seat, if he will be good enough to step up here."

"i guess that's me," said billy, jumping to his feet and starting for the platform.

"that's a nice smile you wear," said mr. johnston scathingly as he gazed down at billy, his bony fingers caressing the long, supple pointer.

"glad you like it," said billy.

"eh? what's that?" mr. johnston fairly recoiled in surprise and indignation at the affront to his dignity. "silence! boys and girls," he shouted, as a titter ran through the schoolroom.

"now young man," he said grimly, grasping one of billy's hands and pulling it forward and out, "i'm going to drive that happy smile from your face."

"you're a'goin' to find that some job," said billy quietly.

"well, we'll see, young mr. impudence." the long pointer rose and fell. billy caught the stroke full on his palm. his face whitened with pain, but the smile did not leave his lips.

"your other hand," commanded mr. johnston.

he bent forward to grasp the hand which billy raised slowly, thereby dodging a stone ink-bottle hurled by maurice keeler. at it was the bottle struck the blackboard and broke, deluging the teacher's face with a sable spray.

billy turned quickly. "no more of that," he said. "this is my funeral—and the teacher's. everybody else keep out of it."

he squared his shoulders and held out his hand. the pointer came down with all the strength that the man dared put behind it. johnston peered closely into the boy's face. it was white and quivering but it still wore a smile.

"take your seat," commanded the teacher. "next boy forward!" one by one the boys walked up to receive their punishment. all took it bravely.

when, at last, the boys had all been attended to, mr. johnston paused for rest. "i shall now begin on the girls," he said, "but before administering punishment i am going to give the guilty boy, or girl, one more chance to confess. will the one who put the sulphur in the stove stand up?"

as before, nobody moved.

mr. johnston smiled. "very well. the girl with the handkerchief to her eyes, the one dressed in white and blue, five seats down, will come forward for punishment."

billy felt his blood run cold. he could not believe his ears. the girl dressed in white and blue! why, that was she—his angel—his light—his everything. and she was crying now. she was standing up, moving forward.

like a flash billy was on his feet. "stop!" he cried, his voice ringing out like a challenge. "you don't whip her if i know it."

for the second time that morning mr. johnston received a violent shock to his dignity. such rank insubordination he had never experienced before. the black eyes turned on billy fairly darting sparks. "take your seat, you impudent boy!" he thundered, "i see i have been too lenient with you. when i am through with the girls i shall flog you until you cry for mercy, and with you the boy who threw that bottle."

billy was running up the aisle.

"please sir, don't whip her," he said, pleadingly. "i'll own up. it was me that put the sulphur in the stove."

"you?" gasped mr. johnston. "you coward! to let your companions be punished for your despicable act. oh," he exulted, removing his coat and rolling up his sleeves, "won't i make you pay for playing the sneak?"

billy was giving no attention to the teacher. he was edging towards lou scroggie, who stood looking at him from dumb, pleading eyes.

"go outside," he whispered. "please do; i kin stand anythin', but i don't want you to see it."

she turned slowly away, then came back and put her hands on his shoulders. she did not speak but the look she gave him was enough. his heart laughed. he turned toward the teacher with so glad a light in his grey eyes that the schooled moulder of young souls gazed back at him in bewilderment.

was this the brand of boy this shagland settlement bred, he wondered. if so, god help him and his precepts.

from the bottom of his heart he wished that he had never seen the place, never encountered the spirit of its woods-born. he knew his capabilities and for once in his life, he confessed to himself, he had over-estimated them. he wanted to give this boy now standing so fearlessly before him a whipping such as he would remember to his dying day, but to save his life he couldn't enter into the task with his old-time zest—not with those clear eyes looking so contemptuously into his very soul.

the room had grown still—a graveyard hush, broken only by a sob from the tenderest-hearted of the girls, who knew that billy had lied to save one of their sex.

johnston had turned to his desk and secured a shorter, stronger pointer. the veins between his shaggy eyebrows stood out clearly defined as he motioned billy up on the platform.

it was just at this juncture that fatty watland arrived; smiling and panting, with the pail, borrowed from his mother, full of drinking water. it took him but a moment to learn from one of the boys what had transpired. it took him still less time to reach the platform. there, with much humiliation of spirit and many "sirs," he explained to the greatly surprised, and it must be confessed, secretly relieved mr. johnston, the true state of affairs.

there was no doubt in the world that fatty regretted the part he had so unwittingly played in the day's disaster. he was sufficiently apologetic and low spirited to satisfy even the new teacher, who was content to let him off with a lecture.

mr. johnston then briefly stated to his pupils that a mistake had been made. he did not say that he was sorry. that would have been an untruth. he did say that billy deserved another whipping for lying, but under the circumstances he would excuse him, as he had already received unmerited punishment.

at the close of his first day in the valley school mr. johnston was forced to confess that he had considerable work before him. had he been able to read the future and learn just what he would be obliged to undergo as teacher of that school, without doubt he would have climbed on the back of his thin horse and ridden straight away from scotia settlement, never to return. but he could not read what the future held, consequently he rode slowly towards fairfield that first evening with the righteous feeling of one who had performed a difficult task well and satisfactorily—at least to himself.

back in the schoolyard a real old fashioned indignation meeting was being held by thirty lusty boys and girls. that any man, teacher or no teacher, should come into their beloved settlement and announce that he had no use for it or its people and go on his way unscathed was beyond all understanding. something would have to be done about it; but what? it was billy who climbed up on the school fence, called order and offered the one sure solution to the problem.

"i guess we don't want'a keep him, do we?" he asked of his companions.

"no. no!" came in chorus.

"all right; that's settled. but listen, now, every one of you. he's gotta go of his own accord. we're not goin' to be disobedient in any way. fer a time we'll eat out'a his hand. now wait—" as a groan of protest went up—"let me finish afore you get the high-jumps, you fellers. at the end of two er three weeks somethin' is goin' to happen to mr. johnston. i'm not goin' to say what that somethin' is right now, but you'll all know soon enough. and if after it happens he's got nerve enough to come back here i miss my guess, that's all."

"hurrah!" shouted the delighted boys. "we knowed you'd find a way to fix him, billy."

billy climbed down from the fence and his supporters gathered about him, eager to secure the details of his plan but he shook his head. "you kin jest leave it all to me, an' one er two others i'm goin' to pick to help me," he said. "it's soon enough fer you to know how we do it when it's done. now, everybody go home."

apparently quite by accident he found himself standing beside lou scroggie and the two fell into step together. they were the last to take the winding path toward the main road. an embarrassed silence fell between them, a silence which remained unbroken until they reached the creek bridge. then the girl said shyly: "do you mind if i call you billy?"

billy had to stifle his emotion and swallow twice before he answered: "that's what i'd like you to call me. i'll bet you can't say it, though."

"oh, i can so!"

"well, let's hear you, then."

he bent his head and held his breath, oblivious to everything save the ecstasy of that moment.

"billy," she half-whispered, then hiding her flushed face in her hands she turned and ran from him.

billy did not follow. something, perhaps the primitive man in him, cautioned the unwisdom of so doing. from the dim, far-back ages woman has run and man has pursued. but a few wise men have waited.

so billy watched her passing like a ray of soft light across the valley and around the golden curve of the road. then with his arms on the bridge-rail, his eyes gazing deep into the amber depths of the water, he lived anew every moment of her nearness, until the hoarse, joyful cry of a crow broke in on his reverie. croaker, having grown lonely, had come down to meet him.

so with the bird perched on his shoulders, muttering a strange jargon of endearments and throaty chuckles in his ear, billy turned up the path, thinking still of a pair of blue eyes and a voice that had called him "billy."