Far ahead of the Master, his keen ears had not caught the sound of the shouts.

The gale and the snow muffled them and drove them back into the shouter's throat.

Cyril, naturally, had not had the remotest intent of laboring through the bitter cold and the snow to the house of any neighbor; there to tell his woeful tale of oppression.

The semblance of martyrdom, without its bothersome actuality, was quite enough for his purpose.

Once before, at home, when his father had administered a mild and much-needed spanking, Cyril had made a like threat; and had then gone to hide in a chum's home, for half a day; returning to find his parents in agonies of remorse and fear, and ready to load him with peace-offerings.