I, the recipient of the master's favors, an ingrate and a wretch! My mother would know this--my gentle, pale-faced mother.
Our little cottage was now visible, with its low walls of grayish white, and vine-encircled windows.
"Richard," said I, walking as slowly as possible, though it was growing darker every moment, "I feel very unhappy.

I will go and see the master in the morning and ask him to punish me for both.

I will humble myself for your sake, for you have been my champion, and I never will forget it as long as I live.

I was wrong to rush out of school as I did,--wrong to tear the paper from his hands,--and I am willing to tell him so now.

It shall all be right yet, Richard,--indeed it shall." "You shall not humble yourself for me, Gabriella; I like a girl of spirit." We had now reached the little gate that opened into our own green yard.
I could see my mother looking from the window for her truant child.