indifference; while his gaze, in the effort to escape the marble-hearted glare of his schoolmates, affixed itself with apparent permanence to the waistcoat button of James Russell Lowell just above the "U" in "Russell."

Classes came and classes went, grilling him with eyes. Newcomers received the story of the crime in darkling whispers; and the outcast sat and sat and sat, and squirmed and squirmed and squirmed. (He did one or two things with his spine which a professional contortionist would have observed with real interest.) And all this while of freezing suspense was but the criminal's detention awaiting trial. A known punishment may be anticipated with some measure of equanimity; at least, the prisoner may prepare himself to undergo it; but the unknown looms more monstrous for every attempt to guess it. Penrod's crime was unique; there were no rules to aid him in estimating the vengeance to fall upon him for it. What seemed most probable was that he would be expelled from the schools in the presence of his family, the mayor, and council, and afterward whipped by his father upon the State House steps, with the entire city as audience by invitation of the authorities.

Noon came. The rows of children filed out, every head turning for a last unpleasingly speculative look at the outlaw. Then Miss Spence closed the door into the cloakroom and that into the big hall, and came and sat at her desk, near Penrod. The tramping of feet outside, the shrill calls and shouting and the changing voices of the older boys ceased to be heard--and there was silence. Penrod, still affecting to be occupied with Lowell, was conscious that Miss Spence looked at him intently."Penrod," she said gravely, "what excuse have you to offer before I report your case to the principal?"  The word "principal" struck him to the vitals. Grand Inquisitor, Grand Khan, Sultan, Emperor, Tsar, Caesar Augustus--these are comparable. He stopped squirming instantly, and sat rigid.  "I want an answer. Why did you shout those words at me?"  "Well," he murmured, "I was just--thinking."  "Thinking what?" she asked sharply.  "I don't know."  "That won't do!"  He took his left ankle in his right hand and regarded it helplessly.  "That won't do, Penrod Schofield," she repeated severely. "If that is all the excuse you have to offer I shall report your case this instant!"  And she rose with fatal intent.  But Penrod was one of those whom the precipice inspires. "Well, I HAVE got an excuse."  "Well"--she paused impatiently--"what is it?"  He had not an idea, but he felt one coming, and replied automatically, in a plaintive tone:  "I guess anybody that had been through what I had to go through, last night, 

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