a nice boy!"

Morris's eyes were hardly more appealing than Teacher's as the two
culprits, for so they felt themselves, turned to their judge.

"Morris is a strange boy," Miss Bailey explained. "He can't be managed
by ordinary methods--"

"And extraordinary methods don't seem to work to-day," Mr. O'Shea
interjected.

"And I think," Teacher continued, "that it might be better not to press
the point."

"Oh, if you have no control over him--" Mr. O'Shea was beginning
pleasantly, when the Principal suggested:

"You'd better let us hear what he has to say, Miss Bailey; make him
understand that you are master here." And Teacher, with a heart-sick
laugh at the irony of this advice in the presence of the Associate
Superintendent, turned to obey.

But Morris would utter no words but these, dozens of times repeated: "I
have a fraid." Miss Bailey coaxed, bribed, threatened and cajoled; shook
him surreptitiously, petted him openly. The result was always the same:
"It's polite I tells you something out, on'y I had a fraid."

"But, Morris, dear, of what?" cried Teacher. "Are you afraid of me? Stop
crying now and answer. Are you afraid of Miss Bailey?"