aster, pointing to the dux.

"Shem!" shrieked a small boy near the foot of the class.

"Silence!" thundered the master, with a frown that caused the small boy
to quake down to the points of his toes.

"Asia!" answered dux.

"Next?"

"Turkey!"

"Next, next, next? Hallo! John Ward," cried the master, starting up in
anger from his seat, "what do you mean by that, sir?"

"What, sir?" said John Ward, tremulously, while a suppressed titter ran
round the class.

"Your face, sir! Who blacked your face, eh?"

"I--I--don't know," said the boy, drawing his sleeve across his face,
which had the effect of covering it with sooty streaks.

An uncontrollable shout of laughter burst from the whole school, which
was instantly followed by a silence so awful and profound that a pin
might have been heard to fall.

"Martin Rattler, you did that! I know you did,--I see the marks on your
fingers. Come here, sir! Now tell me; did you do it?"

Martin Rattler never told falsehoods. His old aunt had laboured to
impress upon him from infancy that to lie was to commit a sin which is
abhorred by God and scorned by man; and her teaching had not been in
vain. The child would have suffered any punishment rather than have
told a deliberate lie. He looked straight in the master's face and
said, "Yes, sir, I did it."

"Very well, go to your seat, and remain in school during the play-hour."

With a heavy heart Martin obeyed; and soon after the school was
dismissed.

"I say, Rattler," whispered Bob Croaker as he passed, "I'm going to
teach your white kitten to swim just now. Won't you come and see it?"

The malicious laugh with which the boy accompanied this remark convinced
Martin that he intended to put his threat in execution. For a moment he
thought of rushing out after him to protect his pet kitten; but a glance
at the stern brow of the master, as he sat at his desk reading,
restrained him; so, crushing down his feelings of mingled fear and
anger, he endeavoured to while away the time by watching the boys as
they played in the fields before the windows of the school.

CHAPTER THREE.

THE GREAT FIGHT.

"Martin!" said the schoolmaster, in a severe tone, looking up from the
book with which he was engaged, "don't look out at the window, sir; turn
your back to it."

"Please, sir, I can't help it," replied the boy, trembling with
eagerness as he stared across the fields.

"Turn your back on it, I say!" reiterated the