A corner of the book had gone into the master's eye; he clapped his hand to it, and for a moment seemed lost in suffering.

The next, he clenched for the boy a man's fist, and knocked him down.

Cosmo fell backward over the form, struck his head hard on the foot of the next desk, and lay where he fell.
A shriek arose, and a girl about sixteen came rushing up.

She was the grand-daughter of James Grade, befriended of the laird.
"Go to your seat, Agnes!" shouted the master, and turning from her, stood, with his handkerchief to one eye, looking down on the boy.
So little did he know him, he suspected him of pretending to be more hurt than he was.
"Touch me gien ye daur," cried Agnes, as she stooped to remove his legs from the form.
"Leave him alone," shouted the master, and seizing her, pulled her away, and flung her from him that she almost fell.
But by this time the pain in his eye had subsided a little, and he began to doubt whether indeed the boy was pretending as he had imagined.

He began also to feel not a little uneasy as to the possible consequences of his hasty act--not half so uneasy, however, as he would have felt, had the laird been as well-to-do as his neighbour, Lord Lickmyloof--who would be rather pleased than otherwise, the master thought, at any grief that might befall either Cosmo or the lass Gracie.