As I had been threatened for my sympathy with Johnny, my instinct told me that it might be better for him that I should not be seen in his company by the spy. I went back up the hill to a bit of level ground where we often walked, and where I knew Johnny would come, and soon he appeared. We went into a quiet little nook, and then he pulled up his trousers and showed the great red marks that were swelling into welts, and then showed me his arms and back. How those cuts must have hurt! I had never been whipped, but had received some cuts in play, so I could imagine how such a thrashing must have felt. But he never whimpered. He seemed to be more hurt in his thoughts than in his body. I took him in my arms, and told him he was a brave noble fellow, that there was not another boy in the school who could have stood such a licking without screaming and blubbering. This greatly pleased and consoled him, but he carried the marks, as he was black and blue for months. He then said that the night before, he had gone out for a few minutes, and just as he was in front of the hall, four boys ran out of the class room. He knew every one of them, as the moon was shining brightly. Just as he entered the door, the spy appeared. Neither of them said anything. When he was called up by the principal he was surprised, as he could not think of any reason for it. He was thunderstruck when the question was asked, and more so, when the blows fell. Just as we thought, the spy was in it. Johnny did not tell me who the boys were, and I did not wish to know the name of any one who would sit still like a great skulking coward, and see a boy like Johnny, be thrashed for his fault. Though Johnny never told, they became known and were not forgotten during our four year’s course. They were not blamed for the goat affair, as all took that as a joke, but for their cowardice and meanness in letting Johnny be whipped while they looked on. They were often left out of our games when sets were made up if we could do without them. Often we would find placards on the walls and trees asking: “Who were the cowards that let Johnny be thrashed?” “Little Johnny is known, but who are the sneaks?” But where was our teacher? It appeared that he had gone out for a stroll with a friend after his classes, but I felt sure that he knew something was going to happen about the goat affair, and he would get out of the way so as not to be called on to say anything, or to blame any one. This was just like him. He was a man, and we all admired and loved him. As to our principal. That scene of anger and brutality ended his praying for me. He read prayers, but I never heard them. His influence over me for good or evil was ended. How could such a man as that preach to us of pity to the weak, of kindness, of charity, of mutual forbearance!