"Father, I--"

"Silence, sir! Don't let me hear a word out of your head!"

The boy shrunk away and went up to his own room in the third story,
whither his angry father immediately followed him.

"Now, sir, take off your jacket!" said Mr. Howland who had a long,
thick rattan in his hand.

"Indeed father," pleaded the child, "I wasn't to blame. Bill
Wilkins--"

"Silence, sir! I want none of your lying excuses! I know you! I've
talked to you often enough about quarreling and throwing stones."

"But, father--"

"Off with your jacket, this instant! Do (sic) your hear me?

"Oh, father! Let me speak! I couldn't--"

"Not a word, I say! I know all about it!" silenced the pleading boy.
His case was prejudged, and he was now in the hands of the
executioner. Slowly, and with trembling hands, the poor child
removed his outer garment, his pale face growing paler every moment,
and then submitting himself to the cruel rod that checkered his back
with smarting welts. Under a sense of wrong, his proud spirit
refused to his body a single cry of pain. Manfully he bore his