ward boy; and I thought
that my aunt was afraid to back me in what I knew to be right. I told
her so.

"True, Geoffrey. But in this house it is useless to oppose force to
force. Your only safe course is non-resistance."

"That plan I never can adopt. It is truckling to evil, aunt. No
ultimate good can spring from it."

"But great trouble and pain may be avoided, Geoffrey."

"Aunt, I will not submit to Mr. Jones's mean tyranny; I feel myself
aggrieved; I must speak out and have it off my mind. I will go this
instant to Mr. Moncton and submit the case to him."

"Incur his displeasure--no trifle at any time, Geoffrey--and have
Theophilus and Mr. Jones laughing at you. They can tell your uncle what
story they please: and which is he most likely to believe, your
statement or theirs?"

"He is a clever man. Let them say what they like, it is not so easy to
deceive him; he will judge for himself. He would know that I was in the
right, even if he did not choose to say so; and that would be some
satisfaction, although he might take their part."

My aunt was surprised at my boldness; she looked me long and earnestly
in the face.

"Geoffrey, your argument is the best. Honesty is the right policy,
after all. I wish I had moral courage to act up to it at all times.
But, my dear boy, when you are the slave of a violent and deceitful
man, your only chance for a quiet life is to fight him with his own
weapons."

"Wrong again, aunt," I cried vehemently. "That would make me as had as
him. No, no, that plan would not do for me. I should betray myself
every minute, and become contemptible in his eyes and my own. It
strikes me, although I am but a boy of twelve, and know little of the
world, that the only real chance you have with such men is, to show
them that you are not afraid of them. They are all cowards, aunt; they
will yield to courage which they feel to be superior to their own. So
much I have learnt from the experience of the last four years."

Aunt made no reply; she smiled sadly and kindly upon me, and her tacit
approval sent me directly to my uncle. He was in his private office. I
knocked gently at the door.

"Come in."

I did so; and there I stood, not a little confused and perplexed before
him, with flushed cheeks and a fast-throbbing heart. It was the first
complaint I had ever made to him in my life--the first time I had ever
dared to enter his _sanctum sanctorum_; and I remained tongue-tied
upon the threshol