I turned around, all the poor exultation that was tingling in my blood dying out into a cold chill of keen regret and mortification. There stood Dr. Polisher, his bright black eyes as round as rings, his benignant forehead knit into an ominous frown, his gold-headed cane in his hand, already upraised in a threatening gesture.

Reg Motley stretched himself at full length on the ground, and gave a low groan, and then closed his eyes. I knew it was all sham, for I had taken especial pains, according to Jim Sands's theory, to throw him without inflicting any injury.

"Well, well, well! Upon my word, this is a pretty sight, right before the academy door, and only twenty minutes before the bell will ring for the commencement of the school services! Young gentlemen, I am astonished, indignant, mortified!"

With each word, the emphasis grew more decided, and I felt as if I should be glad to have the ground open and swallow me up.

Reg Motley gave another hypocritical groan. "Master Motley, can't you rise? Roxton, help him up."

Roxton, a stout, rosy-cheeked lad, with a suppressed smile hovering around his lips, assisted the fallen hero, who presently stood up, but with both hands pressed against his side.

At last the eye I dreaded came to me, and a puzzled expression crossed the doctor's face.

"Why, it is not one of my boys, after all!" he exclaimed, in a tone of great relief, and then added with extra severity, "How dared you come into this yard? Don't you know it is sacred to the pupils of this institution ?"

I felt my lips twitching, but I managed to answer firmly:

"I beg your pardon, sir, my name is Maurice Stone. I was coming to the school for the first time to-day."

An expression crossed his face which puzzled me. He seemed to be as much annoyed by my name as by this troublesome dilemma in which he found me.

"And a pretty first appearance you make,"

said he.

I blushed to my very ear-tips, and remained silent.

"Shan't you send him away, sir?" demanded Reginald Motley, blusteringly. "I am sure my father-"

"Hush, Motley! I shall call upon a disinterested party for the explanation of this disgraceful scene. There is the bell. Come in now and attend to your lesson. When all this excitement has cooled off, I will hear Frank Joy's version of the story."

And having said this, Dr. Polisher motioned for me to follow him, and the rest of the boys filed in behind. We left our caps in an anteroom, and all proceeded to a large, long room furnished like a schoolroom, with chairs and desks, and at one end a long platform, with three desks, and an arm-chair at each desk.

I was shown to a seat somewhat isolated from the rest, and for the first hour I kept my eyes upon my book, and did not venture to satisfy my curiosity. Gradually, however, my courage returned to me. I had not been so very much to blame, after all. I hoped that Doctor Polisher would see this, if only the boy called upon would give a truthful account. And when I had arrived at this conclusion, I allowed my eyes to make more thorough investigations.

Two assistants came in and took seats one on either side of Doctor Polisher's desk on the platform. One was a little, dark, withered looking old man, the teacher in algebra and geometry. The other was quite a young person, with an exceedingly frank and pleasant face, which attracted me at once. I learned afterward that she was a French lady of reduced circumstances, who had been secured to impart to the pupils that rare virtue, in a teacher of French, a correct pronunciation.

When the recess came, I followed out into the yard because the doctor's gesture directed me thereto; but I made no attempt to join the boys. I went quietly to a fence, and leaning over it, watched a flock of ducks swimming in the little pond beyond. Reginald Motley found an opportunity to pass near enough to hiss in my car:

"I had a grudge against you before, for interfering on the beach; but it's nothing to this one. I'll make this school too hot for you before you get through."

I made no other reply than a glance of silent contempt, and, turning my back to him, went on looking at the ducks.

Presently I saw the pleasant-faced, blueeyed boy who had been the only one to remonstrate at my reception, coming out of the academy door. He made it in his way to pass

me, as he joined the other boys, and he said, kindly:

"I have told the teachers just what was said and done. I said plainly I did not blame you at all."

"Thank you," answered I, gratefully. "Then your name is Frank Joy?"

"Yes, that is my name. I am afraid you wont have a very good opinion of the boys here. But Reg Motley has always held tyrannical sway over them. His father is a very rich man, you know, and Reg owns that darling yacht, the Nautilus, and his parties are the treat of the season; even I must admit that."

"I am afraid I shall have a hard time here," said I, mournfully.

"I am afraid you will; for you see Doctor Polisher has to yield a little to Reg, for I believe he is under great obligations to Mr. Motley in some way, and that makes the thing surer for Reg."

Some of the boys called him and he left me, ruefully contemplating the prospect, which was not improved when, after the school was finished, Doctor Polisher called me to his desk and said, coldly:

"I find, from Joy's account, that you are not so much to blame as I supposed. Master Motley is an impulsive, impetuous lad, who does not stop to consider the meaning of his words or actions. But he is a great favorite with the pupils, and you will find yourself invariably injured by any difficulty you may have with him. You have certainly shown unjustifiable haste to pick up a quarrel, and I caution you that I shall deal less leniently with you if there is a second disturbance. I was very loath to receive you. I feared unpleasantness for you, because-because-you are old enough to understand the difference between your position and that of the rest of the pupils-but Mr. Starkweather insisted that you would be willing to pass over the annoyance; and, as a favor to him, I consented to receive you, so long as your good behaviour justified me. I have been thus explicit with you, that you might understand the matter at the outset, and withdraw, if the prospect looks too discouraging."

This speech sounded to me dreadfully harsh, unkind and hard-hearted. I bit my lip angrily, and was almost ready to answer proudly that there was no need for him to receive so unwelcome a pupil-that I would trouble the academy of Doctor Polisher no further. But I was afraid my voice would

fail me, if I attempted it, so I only nodded my head and walked hastily out of the school

room.

As soon as I reached the street I ran, and I rushed in upon my mother, who sat at her endless sewing (she was a seamstress), all out of breath, my cheeks hot, my eyes full of angry tears.

CHAPTER II.

"WELL, mother, I've been to the academy, and I hope I shall never set eyes on the inside of it again in all my life!" exclaimed I, throwing down my satchel.

My mother dropped her sewing, and turned around a startled face.

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Why, Maury, how can you talk so, dear? I am afraid you've come home in a bad humor."

"I should think I might. O mother, don't send me there again! I can't bear it, I know I can't, and I am unwelcome to them all "

She saw now that it was no light, boyish trouble, and her dear, sweet face grew pale, and put on a look of unutterable sadness.

"Maurice," said she, "I have been sitting here at my sewing, feeling so thankful and happy that the arrangement I have so long planned, and hoped for, was effected. Don't tell me, my boy, that any fault of yours has dashed all my hopes."

"Let me tell you just how it was," said I; and so I sat down on the footstool, and with her hand on my shoulder, and her sorrowful eye watching every expression of my face, I repeated my day's experience, trying my best to tell it impartially and truthfully.

A long, tremulous sigh came from her as I concluded.

"Thank Heaven! it is not so bad as I feared. You have still the privilege of going to the academy."

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"The privilege of going!" repeated I, bitterly. 'O mother, after what I have told you, would you send me there again? Have you no pride?"

"Yes, Maurice, I have pride, such a pride as would rejoice in my son being well educated, and nobly governed by his own calm spirit. Listen, my dear boy. There is no other way for you to get the education you need, and which I so ardently desire you to have. I cannot send you away where your board must be paid, for it is already just as much as I can do to make both ends meet." "Let me go without any more learning," I

cried, eagerly. "I don't want you to be wearing out your life for me in this fashion. Let me go on board some of the fishing-smacks, and earn my own living, and something besides to help you."

She put her two thin hands to her pale face and shut her eyes a moment, and a strange feeling of awe fell upon me, because I knew that she was praying. When at length she opened her eyes, she took both my hands in hers and said, in an appealing Voice:

Maury, you know your mother loves you better than all the rest of the world, don't you?"

"Yes, mother," answered I, feeling the mist creeping into my eyes.

"You trust her thoroughly, don't you, as meaning to do everything for your best interest ?"

"Yes, mother," answered I, again, my voice getting still huskier.

"And you love me,darling boy; you know that I have had a good deal of trouble and sorrow, and much care, but that for your sake I have borne up cheerfully? You would do everything in your power to save me from further pain, wouldn't you?”

"Yes, mother."

And now I was sobbing outright. My mother put both arms around my neck and kissed me, her tears mingling with mine as she whispered:

"Then you'll be my own brave boy, and you will have manliness and dignity enough to throw off their unkind looks and words. You wont let them cheat you out of this education your mother so ardently desires for you. You will go back to the academy tomorrow, dear Maurice ?"

O, it was terrible for me to give the answer she desired. For a minute it seemed to me that I could not, but her tears conquered. My own sweet, patient, unselfish mother! Should I deny her this earnest desire? She knew better than I why it was so imperative. I ground down my distress. I choked back the hard sob in my throat, and returning her kiss, I answered:

"Yes, mother, I will go."

Her tender caress, her grateful joy, was sufficient recompense.

We had a pleasant supper after that. She brought out all her store of delicacies, and treated me as if I were some grand visitor, and then she told me stories of famous men who had conquered stubborn circumstances,

and grown strong through surmounting of obstacles, And then she took the Bible and read to me the wise proverb of the wise o.d king, "that he who ruleth his own spirit is mightier than he who taketh a city."

And a grand courage came to me, and I said to myself, and 1 told her, that I was armed with a coat of mail, and none of Reginald Motley's shafts should have power to wound me. She smiled, but warned me that, in the enthusiasm of the new resolution, it is always very easy to be brave, but the true hero is he who abides patiently the continued shock of battle.

While we were talking, there came a knock at the door, and my mother, sitting nearer it than I, went over and opened it.

"Is Master Maury in doors, marm?" asked Joe Stephens's voice.

I went to the door at once where Joe stood tarpaulin in hand.

"What's wanting, Joe? here I am."

"I've got to run down to the point in my boat. The smack is laying there waiting for me to bring down some things Jake Scranton forgot, and I want a hand to help a little, for the breeze is pretty stiff, and she'll want lively handling. We shall get back by twelve o'clock, and I'll give you a silver dollar for the job."

"It's a glorious moonlight, and will be splendid sailing. O mother, you'll let me go, wont you?" exclaimed I, for a sail with Joe was one of the irresistible temptations for me. My mother stepped out the door and looked up at the sky.

"It looks a little squally, Joe," said she, anxiously.

"Yes'm," answered Joe, respectfully, "it will be pretty lively sailing, but Lord bless you, there aint no danger for them as knows enough to keep their eyes open and not carry sail right in the eye of the squall. I'd trust Maury all alone to manage the boat, and sure you wont think an old salt like me is going to let her get into harm!"

"No, I don't think you will, Joe," answered my mother, with another glance at the sky, and then as she came back into the room she said, smilingly:

"But I am dreadfully jealous of you and your boat, Joe Stephens. You have altogether too strong a fascination for my boy. I can't let you make a sailor of him."

"Bless your good heart, marm," answered Joe, scraping and bowing in his honest, but loutish fashion. "What's in the bones already, don't have to be put there. There aint a

youngster in the town can beat him in managing a boat, and I wouldn't be afraid to trust him with the smack either."

I flushed up hotly with pride. There was no other compliment had quite so sweet a flavor as this praise of my seamanship. And while my mother was giving Joe a piece of cake I ran for my thick jacket and my woollen cap.

Mother kissed me as I went away, and. there was a little reluctance veiled beneath her playful smile.

"I let you go, Maury, because you have been so good to-night. I wont deny you these little trips, if they help you to bear better the life at the academy."

Joe and I hurried off down to the beach. The moon had already soared far up into the sky, and though a few inky scuds were drifting across her face, the whole scene was resplendent with her lovely light. I glanced around admiringly, while Joe, whistling a queer sailor song he had learned, whose chorus came out every line or two, "O whishy, O whishy, O," loosened the ropes and pushed off.

It was a low, gently descending shore, sprinkled rather plentifully with little groups of cottages, with here and there a fine, handsome estate, the country residence of some wealthy city gentleman, and twinkling lights began to glimmer out from the shore in response to the stars peeping forth timidly as if washed out by the more powerful flood of moonlight.

We kept along the shore, and the sail being set, the little craft, laying over on her side, sped along, the water gurgling away in white wreaths from her wake, which glimmered like beaded silver. It was so beautiful that I was thrilled with a strange sort of delight, so exquisite that it approached pain, and sent a mist to my eyes. What a world of beauty this is! I could never understand why the people in it do so much to mar its peace and loveliness. And this led my thoughts back to Reg Motley, and then I thought of the Nautilus, and looked over to the anchorage where she usually lay, with a trim little sail boat moored beside her. Before I knew Reg Motley personally, I believed he must be the happiest boy in the world, to own such a sail boat, as that was the very height of my ambitious hopes; but to have a yacht with her skipper and crew at her service seemed to me nothing short of a fairy prince. The Nautilus was there, her trim proportions mirrored in the

silvered wave, but I saw that the sail boat was absent. I did not speak of it, for it was natural enough they should, some of them, be out, enjoying this jolly breeze and enchanting moonlight. I congratulated myself that I had luckily been of no need to Joe, who kept up his whistling, except when, now and then, he moved the tiller, and broke out into hoarse singing. Pretty soon we had to keep our eyes at home with the boat. It was a stiff breeze sure enough! She lay over till the water almost splashed into our laps, and went on her way like a wild thing.

“It's more in jerks and puffs down here," observed Joe, as he put off a little further from the shore. "Come here and hold the tiller, Maury; I'll shorten a little."

I went over and took his seat, and it required both hands to hold the tiller, such a sweep of water from our rapid motion worked against the rudder.

"It's a little rougher than you expected, isn't it, Joe?" said I, presently, watching the yeasty billows come rolling one after another toward us.

Joe whistled that low, prolonged whistle that says so much.

"Sho! you don't say you're frightened, Maury."

I laughed gayly as I answered, turning my face exultantly to the freshening breeze:

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Frightened! I'd like to see the sea that can frighten me.”

"Mebbe, mebbe, youngster," answered Joe, meditatively, while he made another round of the sail rope. “You've got a brave spirit of your own for your years; but it's no good to be over-boastful. The sea is mighty powerful when its wrath is aroused, and though it's sense to have cheerful trust in good timber, and plenty of sea room, there be times when the stoutest man feels like a worm, and knows that his life is in the keeping of other hands than his own."

Hark!" exclaimed I, interrupting him suddenly, and sharply.

Joe turned his head and listened. Only the rasping of the sail, and the roar of the wind, and the splash of the waves.

"I was sure I heard a voice calling!" exclaimed I, excitedly, and then in another moment we both heard it, gasping and sobbing as if from some one in mortal peril, but shrill and high.

"HELP-HELP-O HELP!"

I almost lost my hold of the tiller as I started up from my seat.

"Take care! jam her down again," shouted Joe, and I hurriedly obeyed.

He came over and took my place, and said: "Look sharp now, your eyes are younger than mine. See where the answer comes from if you can, when I halloo."

And putting his hands to his mouth, making a trumpet of them, while his knees held the tiller as in a vice, he shouted in stentorian tones:

"Ahoy-ahoy there, A-H-O-Y!”

Shrill and frantic came back the answer: "Help! help! We are perishing."

I had my ear trained to its utmost acuteness, and I was able to follow with my eye to the spot whence the sound proceeded.

"I obeyed, and in hardly more than two minutes we were near enough to see plainly. It was indeed a boat capsized, and two figures were clinging to the keel.

"Hold on! Help is coming!" shouted I. "For Heaven's sake, hurry!" came back in feeble, spent tones, in a woman's voice.

"Take care, Maury, I'm going to drop the sail. We must use oars now!" said Joe, hoarsely.

I gave him all the help possible, and in a moment more, we were alongside the wrecked boat.

I saw a boy beyond the woman, and as the ghastly, terrified face was turned toward me, full in the light of the moon, I learned who it was. I am thankful to say that I never thought of our antagonism or his unkindness. I only felt profound commiseration for his alarm and deadly peril, when I recognized Reginald Motley.

"I'll see to the lady, Maury, do you pull in the boy," directed Joe Stephens.

I leaned out as far as possible and stretched out my arms to Reg Motley. But, exhausted, frightened and thoroughly panic-stricken, he had no courage, and dared not relinquish his desperate grasp of the boat. Perceiving this, I slipped over the side, holding with one hand upon the gunwale.

He seized my arm, and the movement dislodging him, he went floundering into the water. If he had remained quiet no harm would have come of it, but with a wild yell of terror he flung himself upon me, clasping both hands about my neck. The sudden shock broke the hold I had upon Joe's boat, and the mad, insane fashion with which he bore upon me his whole weight, disabled me from swimming, and forced me under water. He clutched my throat so tightly I was nearly strangled, and could not release myself. I was conscious of a buzzing, singing noise in my ear. I felt the dizzy rush of blood to my head, and knew that we were both sinking. Yet, still I could not shake off his frantic, desperate clutch. My fierce efforts only hastened the catastrophe. Struggling, floundering, we both sank lower, and went down-down-to the very depths of the ocean, it seemed to

me.