Prayers said, little Johnny, he who was so timid that he could not kneel down before the boys to say his prayers, was called in front of the desk. Said our portly head in a pompous, angry voice, fierce enough to make a lion tremble; his face crimson, and his whole mountain of flesh fairly shaking with wrath: “You were seen in front of the school building last night, when several large boys ran past you, and I am sure they were the ones who put the goat in the master’s chair, and I want you to tell who they were?” There was a dead silence, of a minute, it seemed to me, but it may have been only a half of one, yet it was an awful long time. Johnny was as silent as the rest of us. Then the chief, angrier than ever: “Are you going to tell me who those boys were, or not?” “No, sir, I shall not tell,” said the brave lad. His voice trembled, but had a deal of firmness in it. As he gave his answer our chief drew a rattan from the table drawer, and laid it upon poor Johnny, right and left, up and down, regardless where he struck. Every blow hit me, for I had often met the little fellow and loved him. One thing, especially, brought us together. One day he told me he had never had a father, so this made us twin brothers in sympathy ever afterward. I screamed in pain, pain in my heart, the worst kind of pain. At my scream the big flogger stopped and shaking the rattan at me, shouted out: “If that boy makes another sound, I will give him something to remember. This will do for to-day,” said he, as he seemed to be exhausted, and out we went, the spy following us.