"I thought so--you little liar!" Mr. Caxton's features hardened and his voice rang out accusingly. "You made the whole thing up." It is doubtful if Mr. Caxton would have struck a child in spiteful rage. The grotesque melodrama of self-righteous deceit that went on inside of him would have been thrown out of joint by such a flagrant violation of adult mores. Besides, the danger of retribution from Peter's parents would have given him very serious and solemn pause. What Mr. Caxton actually did was a far less grievous offense. He simply took the drawing and molded it carefully to Peter's face. Then, with a quick, abrupt shove, he sent Peter reeling backward. Peter let out a yell, lost his balance, and went down on the floor on his hands and knees. It was not a too grievous offense, but if Mr. Caxton had delivered a stinging blow to Peter's cheek with the flat of his hand he would have condemned himself less absolutely. Some people can do a malicious thing once, but it doesn't mean that they are completely evil. Even the sternest type of old English schoolmaster had redeeming qualities, and a knuckle rapping with a ruler has been forgiven by irate parents time and time again. But by blind-folding Peter and sending him reeling Mr. Caxton had placed himself beyond the pale. There is nothing quite as shocking and unforgivable as a blow to the pride of a sensitive boy with no malice in his nature, and to Peter's father, just coming in through the door, the affront seemed outrageous. Peter's mother, too, turned white with rage. She stood for an instant swaying in the doorway, unnerved by the mind-numbing realization that she had returned just in time to rescue her children from the clutches of a monster. Then she made straight for Mr. Caxton. She was a frail little woman, and it seemed strange that Mr. Caxton should have been more terrified by her unbridled fury than by the more immediate threat of Dr. Ashley himself, who was now towering directly over him. Dr. Ashley's arm was drawn back, and his eyes were darting venom. But even when Dr. Ashley's fist crashed against Mr. Caxton's jaw with shattering violence Peter's discredited guardian took the blow unblinkingly, his eyes still on Mrs. Ashley's white and accusing face. For a moment Mr. Caxton blacked out completely. He lay sprawled out on the floor at Dr. Ashley's feet, and the little ribbon of crimson which dribbled from his mouth might have been a vehicle for cruel satire if Mr. Caxton had been less firmly convinced that there was no animal life on Mars. For it looked suspiciously like a worm, a blood-hued crawler of the Martian night that in its own tiny way symbolized the many branching tunnels of corruption and decay that could exist inside a man. It was to Dr. Ashley's credit that he did not give Mr. Caxton a second glance when that very disheveled person got to his feet, and stared in sullen, despairing confusion at Peter picking himself up in sobbing defiance.