The public floggings at Saint Kirwin's were public in the sense that they could be heard by all but seen by none, for they took place in a small room adjoining the big schoolroom, and the audience were able to estimate how each of the victims "took it." In the present instance, Smithson and Mcmurdo got off with a comparatively slight infliction, and, beyond a smothered yelp or two, "took it" well. But when it came to Anthony's turn, they wondered if it was going on for ever. He received, in fact, a most relentless swishing, but for all the sound that escaped him--whether of cry or groan--he might just as well not be undergoing chastisement at all. The school was lost in admiration of his pluck and endurance; and, afterwards, when he emerged, showing no sign of pain, but scowling savagely, and muttering in his own tongue-- the word having been given to dismiss--he broke forth:-- "What they do to Haviland?" "Well done, Cetchy! Well done, old chap! You did take it well. Biggest swishing Nick ever gave. He'd have stopped if you'd yelled out," were some of the congratulations showered upon him. But of them he took no notice whatever. "D--n! What they do to Haviland?" he repeated, stamping his foot, and scowling savagely. "I'm afraid he'll be expelled, Cetchy," said some one. The others thought so too. "What's expelled? Sent away?" "That'll be it." The Zulu boy made no answer. He gazed from one to the other, and then his eyes began to fill, and great tears, which the most savage flogging ever administered within the walls of Saint Kirwin's had failed to wring from him, rolled down his cheeks. "Haviland sent away! perhaps not even allowed to bid him good-bye. No, that was too much." "Never mind, Cetchy, old chap. Perhaps it won't come to that, after all," were some of the well-meant attempts to console him. But he would have none of it, and turned away, sorrowful and speechless. The while, in many a group, recent events were being volubly discussed. "I always hated Haviland," declared one youngster emphatically. "He was such a brute when he was a prefect. But I like him now, since he cheeked Nick. He _is_ a plucky beggar." "Now then, get along to your places--sharp, d'you hear?" commanded two or three prefects, breaking up such groups--for it was preparation time. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Haviland, after a day and a half of solitary confinement--retirement would perhaps be a better word, for he was not under lock and key--had reached the stage of sullen resignation. Of course he would be expelled.