Old Jean Poquelin, standing and shaking his cane, rolling out his long-drawn maledictions, paused and stared, then gave the Secretary a courteous bow and started on.

The boys, save one, from pure astonishment, ceased but a ruffianly little Irish lad, more daring than any had yet been, threw a big hurtling clod, that struck old Poquelin between the shoulders and burst like a shell.

The enraged old man wheeled with uplifted staff to give chase to the scampering vagabond; and--he may have tripped, or he may not, but he fell full length.

Little White hastened to help him up, but he waved him off with a fierce imprecation and staggering to his feet resumed his way homeward.

His lips were reddened with blood.
Little White was on his way to the meeting of the Board.