"So _you_ were the good fairy, Carla, who wrought the transformation in him. He certainly was a very dirty little boy the first morning he came to school, but he has been pretty clean ever since." Donald, who had been listening, now spoke up again. "Oh, Wathemah's all right, only I thocht ye likit him mair nor the rest o' us." "No, she don't, neither," stoutly maintained Brigham. "I guess I know. She's always fair." At this moment, Wathemah himself drew near. He had been to the timber for mistletoe, and returned with his arms full of sprays of green, covered with white waxen berries. He walked proudly to his Beloved, and gave her his offering. Then he stepped back and surveyed her. "Wathemah love he teacher," he said in a tone of deep satisfaction. "She ain't yourn, ye Apache savage," cried Donald. "She don't love ye; she said so," added the child, maliciously. Like a flash, Wathemah was upon him, beating him with all his strength. He took the law into his own hands, settled his score, and laid his opponent out before Esther could interfere. When she grasped Wathemah's arm, he turned upon her like a tiger. "Donald lie!" he cried. "Yes, Donald did lie," she conceded, "but _you_ should not punish him." "Donald call savage. Wathemah kill he!" The teacher continued to hold him firmly. She tried to reason with him, but her words made no impression. The child stood resolute. He lifted a scornful finger toward Donald, and said in a tone of contempt: "Donald lie. Wathemah no lie." The teacher released him, and told him to see her after school. Then the afternoon session began. But Wathemah's place was vacant. As the hours passed, it became evident that Donald was not as happy as usual. He was in disgrace. At last his class was called. He hung his head in shame. Esther did not press him to recite. The hour for dismissal came. The little culprit sat alone in the farther corner of the room. Carla started out to find Wathemah. The loud accusing tick of the clock beat upon Donald's ear. The teacher was busy, and at first paid no attention to him. She heard a sniffling in the corner. Still no attention. At last she sat down by the lad, and said very gently: "Tell me about it, Donald." No answer. He averted his face, and rubbed his dirty fists into his eyes. "Tell me why you lied to Wathemah, Donald." Still no answer. "How could you hurt his feelings so?" No answer. Then Esther talked to him till he buried his face in his arms and sobbed. She probed down into his heart. At last she asked him what he thought he should do. Still silence. She waited. The clock ticked louder and louder in the ears of the child: "Say it! Say it! Say it!" At last he spoke. "I ought tae tell Wathemah I lied; but I dinna want tae tell him afore the lads." "Ah!" she said, "but you said your untruthful words before them; and unless you are a coward, your apology ought to be before them." "I am nae coward," he said, lifting his head.