He glanced at the title as he spoke. “Soft-toed Samuel” conveyed little to him, enough however to inform him that he had been correct in his surmise that it was tabooed matter. “But—but, it—it isn’t mine,” protested Finch. “No?” commented Mr. Roylston, with an accent of indifference. “I shall return it to its owner in good time, if you choose to inform me who he is.” He glanced casually over the writing. “Don’t—don’t you dare to read that!” cried Finch, his face livid, as for the moment anger got the better of fear. “I’ll—I’ll—” he half rose from his seat, his fists clenched in helpless rage. Mr. Roylston turned upon him with a glare. “You will do what?” he asked in tones that almost robbed Finch of his senses. “Get to work,” he added, after looking at him steadily for a moment; and then turned away, leaving his victim morally and spiritually prostrate. Poor Finch sank back in his seat, bent his head, and fastened his unseeing eyes on the pages of the _Anabasis_. The incident, though observed and heard by the whole schoolroom, seemed not to have created a ripple of excitement. Not a sound disturbed the stillness of the room. As the master turned from Finch, he observed a hundred heads bent diligently over their books, and a slight grim smile of satisfaction crossed his face. He felt that he had reason to be proud of his discipline. He seated himself at the desk, and his eyes fell idly upon the first page of the manuscript. “Soft-toed Samuel,” he read, and a curl of contempt trembled along his thin lips. And then: “There is no place of general resort in the school which is immune from the presence of Soft-toed Sam; sometimes he is seen thrusting his head even into the locker-rooms below stairs and listening with eager and suspicious ear to the slang and careless conversation that is apt to take place there. And woe to the boy whose tongue is not restrained on such occasions! there will be a day of reckoning. Sometimes he munches a bit of cake at the Pie-house, making pretense of joviality; but whilst he seems attentive to nothing but his goody and the Pie-lady, he overhears the remarks of every boy in the place, and makes a note of them in his little book. Sometimes he comes into the general assembly of all the boys on a Sunday evening, as one who comes to hear and to improve, but who leaves to carp. His face is too well-known, too often seen by every boy in the school. The stealthy tread of Soft-toed Samuel is ever on the trail of the lazy, the indifferent and the wicked, and where he does not find matter for condemnation provided him by nature, he creates it out of nothing. The Head has....” Mr. Roylston turned the pages, and glanced at the conclusion. “Thus he lives in the school as a critic of and a bane to mankind rather than as one of the species.” It was enough. The handwriting, of course, he recognized. He folded the paper neatly and placed it in his pocket.