What! I find the puppy in my garden whistling--he confesses--for one of my servants--here, Mr.Boddy, if you please.

My school shall see that none insult me with impunity!' He laid on Heriot like a wind on a bulrush.
Heriot bent his shoulders a trifle, not his head.
'Hit away, sir,' he said, during the storm of blows, and I, through my tears, imagined him (or I do now) a young eagle forced to bear the thunder, but with his face to it.

Then we saw Boddy lay hands on him, and in a twinkling down pitched the usher, and the boys cheered--chirped, I should say, they exulted so, and merely sang out like birds, without any wilfulness of delight or defiance.

After the fall of Boddy we had no sense of our hero suffering shame.

Temple and I clutched fingers tight as long as the blows went on.