He stood looking up wistfully into the blue sky, as
if unconscious of his uncle's presence, and then he sighed. 'I think I'd
rather be alone, Uncle Jake.'

Jake left him without a word, and went home to prepare Mrs. John for what
had happened.'

She was much distressed, but, like a sensible woman, took the right view
of the case.

'He wanted to be pulled up sharp; my poor boy, is he much hurt?'

The caning was such a minor point of Teddy's grief that Jake confessed to
knowing nothing about it. Mrs. Platt was inclined to be indignant with
the schoolmaster.

'Such a tiny little chap as he is, so full of feeling and nerves--he
hadn't ought to have done it.'

Yet only that morning she herself had almost given him a sound whipping
for one of his mad pranks!

Shortly after Teddy crept in, and shutting the door behind him, put his
back against it.

'Mother, granny,' he said, 'I've been an awful boy at school this
morning, and I'm in disgrace. I've been caned.'

His tone was tragic, then he added slowly, 'But I'm very sorry, and I'm
sorry I've been so naughty at home, and I'm going to start again, because
my Captain has forgiven me.'

And then Mrs. John did the wisest thing she could do. She asked no
questions, but got some warm water and took him off to wash his face and
hands. She saw the red marks across the little hand, but refrained from
making much of it; and then, after putting his curly head in order, she
drew it to her shoulder, and putting her arms round him, she said,--

'My sonny, mother is so glad her little son feels his naughtiness. She
has been praying much for him to-day. And now tell me all about it.'

CHAPTER VIII

In the Clover Field

'Please, Mrs. Platt, can I see Teddy?'

'I think he is out in the clover field. Don't you be romping round with
him now, for he's taken his Sunday book out, and is as quiet as can be.'

It was Nancy who was standing at the farmhouse door one lovely Sunday
evening. Old Mrs. Platt was the only one at home, and she motioned with
her hand where her little grandson would be found.

Nancy discovered him a few minutes later, lying full length in the
sweet-scented clover, an open book before him. When he raised his face to
hers, it wore his most angelic look.

'Hulloo! what have you come here for?' he asked.

'To talk to you,' and, without more ado, Nancy squatted down beside him.
'What are you doing?' she went on; 'and what's your Sunday book?'

'It'