giants that used to come to school in the winter months.

The school never forgot the day when big Bob Fraser "answered back" in
class. For, before the words were well out of his lips, the master, with
a single stride, was in front of him, and laying two swift, stinging
cuts from the rawhide over big Bob's back, commanded, "Hold out your
hand!" in a voice so terrible, and with eyes of such blazing light, that
before Bob was aware, he shot out his hand and stood waiting the blow.
The school never, in all its history, received such a thrill as the next
few moments brought; for while Bob stood waiting, the master's words
fell clear-cut upon the dead silence, "No, Robert, you are too big to
thrash. You are a man. No man should strike you--and I apologize." And
then big Bob forgot his wonted sheepishness and spoke out with a man's
voice, "I am sorry I spoke back, sir." And then all the girls began
to cry and wipe their eyes with their aprons, while the master and Bob
shook hands silently. From that day and hour Bob Fraser would have slain
any one offering to make trouble for the master, and Archibald Munro's
rule was firmly established.

He was just and impartial in all his decisions, and absolute in his
control; and besides, he had the rare faculty of awakening in his pupils
an enthusiasm for work inside the school and for sports outside.

But now he was holding himself in, and with set teeth keeping back the
pain. The week had been long and hot and trying, and this day had been
the worst of all. Through the little dirty panes of the uncurtained
windows the hot sun had poured itself in a flood of quivering light all
the long day. Only an hour remained of the day, but that hour was to
the master the hardest of all the week. The big boys were droning lazily
over their books, the little boys, in the forms just below his desk,