"Yes, yes--he's right!" rang out an earnest chorus.

"Silence!" roared the schoolmaster. "An example must be made. I shall do
my duty. Andrew Wildwood--Graham! what do you mean, sir?"

The scholars thrilled, as a new and unexpected element came into the
situation.

Graham, quite a young man, and double the weight of the schoolmaster,
had arisen from his seat. He walked quietly between Mr. Darrow and Andy,
quite pushing back the former gently.

"The lad is right, Mr. Darrow," he said, in his quiet, drawling way. "I
wouldn't punish him before the scholars if I were you, sir."

"What's this? You interfere!" flared out the pedagogue.

"Don't take it that way, Mr. Darrow," said Graham. "You are displeased,
and justly so, sir, but boys will be boys. Andy is the right kind of a
lad, I assure you, only in the wrong kind of a place. They did the same
thing with me when I was young. If they hadn't, I wouldn't be here
spelling out words of two syllables at twenty-eight years of age."

Andy's eyes glistened at the big scholar's friendliness. A murmur of
approbation ran round the room.

Silently the pedagogue fumed. The disaffection of the occasion, mild and
respectful as it was, disarmed him. He regarded Andy with a despairing
look. Then he straightened up with great dignity.