little lad when he was naughty in the years before he went away to
school, and the little lad had taken his medicine philosophically like
other naughty boys--had cried lustily, then dried his eyes and forgotten
all about it in the pleasure which the goodies and petting he always had
from his pretty, tender-hearted foster-mother at such times gave him.
But _this_ was different. He was a big lad now--very big and old, he
felt, far too big to be flogged; quite big enough to visit his mother's
grave, if he chose, without having to talk about it. And he had not only
been flogged because he would not reveal his sacred, sweet secret, but
had had his dependence upon charity thrown up at him!

Henceforth, he felt, his life would be a lonely one, for he now knew
that he was different from other boys, all of whom (in his acquaintance)
had fathers to whose bounty they had a right--the right of sonship. Yes,
he was a very big boy (he told himself) and he had not cried when he was
flogged, but under the cover of the kindly dark, hot tears of
indignation, hurt pride and pity for his own loneliness--his
singularity--made all his pillow wet.

Comfort came to him from an unexpected source. The door of his room had
been closed, but not latched. It was now pushed open by "Comrade," his
old spaniel, who made straight for his side, first pushing his nose
against his face and then leaping upon the bed and nestling down close
to him, with a sigh of satisfaction. The desolate boy welcomed this
dumb, affectionate companionship. The feel of the warm, soft body, and
the thought of the velvety brown eyes which he could not see in the
dark, but knew were fixed upon him with their intense, loving gaze, were
soothing to his overwrought nerves. Here was something whose love could
be counted upon--something as dependent upon him as he was upon Mr.
Allan; yet what a joy he found in the very dependence of this devoted,