in the body. Ten, twenty, thirty, or
in extreme cases, even forty such stripes would be administered, some
boys taking them as fast as the doctor could strike, so that the torture
might soon be over, and others pausing between each blow, to rub their
stinging palms together, and bedew them with their tears.

It was a terrible ordeal, no doubt, and one that would hardly be
approved of to-day, the publicity uniting with the severity to make it a
cruel strain upon a boy's nervous system. In all the years that Bert
spent at Dr. Johnston's school he was called upon to endure it only
once, but that once sufficed. The way it came about was this:

Bert one morning happened to be in a more than usually frolicsome mood,
and was making pellets out of the soft part of the rolls he had brought
for lunch, and throwing them about. In trying to hit a boy who sat
between him and Mr. Snelling's desk, he somehow or other miscalculated
his aim, and to his horror, the sticky pellet flew straight at the bald
spot on top of Mr. Snelling's head, as the latter bent his shortsighted
eyes over a book before him, hitting it in the centre, and staying there
in token of its success.

With angry face, Mr. Snelling sprang to his feet, and brushing the
unlucky pellet from his shiny pate, called out so fiercely as to attract
the doctor's attention:

"Who threw that at me?"

The few boys who were in the secret looked very hard at their books,
while those who were not glanced up in surprise, and tried to discover
the cause of Mr. Snelling's excitement.

"Who threw that at me?" demanded Mr. Snelling, again.

Bert, who had at first been so appalled by what he had done that his
tongue refused to act, was about to call out "It was I, sir," when Rod
Graham was seen to hold up his hand, and on Mr. Snelling turning
inquiringly toward him, Rod, in a low, sneaking voice, said:

"It was Lloyd, sir; I saw him do it."

Mr. Snelling immediately called out, "Lloyd, come to my desk;" and
Bert, feeling hot and cold by turns, went up to the desk, and stood
before it, the picture of penitence.

"Did you throw that pellet?" asked Mr. Snelling, in indignant tones.

"Yes, sir; but I didn't mean to hit you, sir," answered Bert, meekly.

"I know nothing about that," answered Mr. Snelling, too much excited to
listen to any defence. "Follow me to Dr. Johnston."

Hastening into the presence of the stern headmaster, Mr. Snelling stated
what had happened, and pointed