Since this was his point of view it naturally was impossible for him to appreciate the horror that his words brought to the boy who sat on the steps beside him. Peter knew his father too well to offer protest at the judgment that his own misdeeds had brought. It was a perfectly fair retribution. Moreover, he had been warned--Peter clearly recalled the fact now. But he had rushed blindly on, not heeding the warning. "The tannery?" he at last repeated aloud. "Yes. That is where I began, Peter, and it won't hurt you to do the same." "Shan't I go back to school at all?" "Not for the present." "And the school team----" "It must get on without you as best it may." Peter fought to keep back the tears. "Will everybody know?" he faltered after a pause. "No. I simply told Mr. Christopher that I had decided to take you out of school. He knows nothing more, nor does any one else. Now, Peter, I do not wish you to take this as a punishment." Stooping, Mr. Coddington put his hand kindly on the lad's shoulder. "In so far as it is the consequence of misspent, wasted time it is, to be sure, a punishment; none of us can escape the direct results of our own actions. In another sense, however, it is merely a fresh opportunity--a chance to substitute success for failure, to make good at a different kind of work. It is in this light that you must try and regard it, son. I want to make a man of you if I can. I must make a man of you. You are the only child I have, and if I stand by and allow you to make a fizzle of your life I shall be quite as much to blame as you. Remember that unhappy as you are this affair is costing me something, too." There was a break in Mr. Coddington's voice. As the boy raised his head and looked into the face bending over him he read in it an expression quite new--a softness and sympathy that he had never before caught in the gray eyes which, but a moment previous, had regarded him so sternly. As a result when Peter answered much of the bitterness had crept out of his tone. "I suppose all the men at the factory will have to know who I am," he reflected. "I'm afraid so. I see no way that that can be avoided," assented his father. "I hate to have them. They will all be grinning over the knowledge that I was put into the factories because I flunked at school. Isn't there any way to prevent their knowing? Couldn't I take another name when I go into the tannery and let them think I am somebody else?" Mr. Coddington mused a few seconds before answering.