forest had become a white blur. He looked next at the Doctor and he saw
that the ruddy face had turned white. The old man was gazing intently
at an open letter in his hand. Two or three others had fallen to the
floor. He read the letter again, folded it carefully, and put it in his
pocket. Then he broke the wrapper on one of the newspapers and rapidly
read its columns. The whiteness of his face deepened into pallor.

The slight tearing sound caused most of the boys to look up, and they
noticed the change in the principal's face. They had never seen him
look like that before. It was as if he had received some sudden and
deadly stroke. Yet he sat stiffly upright and there was no sound in the
room but the rustling of the newspaper as he turned its pages.

Harry became conscious of some strange and subtle influence that had
crept into the very air, and his pulse began to leap. The others felt
it, too. There was a tense feeling in the room and they became so still
that the soft beat of the snow on the windows could be heard.

Not a single eye was turned to a book now. All were intent upon the
Doctor, who still read the newspaper, his face without a trace of color,
and his strong white hands trembling. He folded the paper presently,
but still held it in his hand. As he looked up, he became conscious of
the silence in the room, and of the concentrated gaze of fifty pairs
of eyes bent upon him. A little color returned to his cheeks, and his
hands ceased to tremble. He stood up, took the letter from his pocket,
and opened it again.

Dr. Russell was a striking figure, belonging to a classic type found
at its best in the border states. A tall man, he held himself erect,
despite his years, and the color continued to flow back into the face,