our road.
Now, jist tell me all about this fight!"

Now, Scotty, in his eagerness to get home, had taken the short road
across the swamp and knew nothing of the affray. But he scarcely heard
the master's question; he had caught only that hateful name, the name
that made him an alien from the MacDonalds and classed him with that
baby, "Hash" Tucker, who was even now weeping behind his slate lest his
big brother should be thrashed. Scotty's face flushed crimson, his
hands clenched.

"Are ye deef?" roared the master. "Answer me my question, Ralph
Stanwell!"

The boy leaped as if he had been struck. "That will not be my name!"
he cried defiantly.

McAllister glared at him with wild bloodshot eyes; under other
circumstances he would have been ashamed of the part he was playing;
but now his nerves were raw and his temper was rendered wild by his
craving.

"Are ye ashamed o' yer name, ye young English upstart?" he roared.

That opprobrious epithet "English" swept all fear and discretion from
Scotty's mind. "I'll not be English!" he shouted back, "I'll be
Scotch, an' my name will jist be MacDonald, whatever!"

A low growl of approval came from the region of the MacDonalds at the
back of the school, and Peter Lauchie MacDonald, who was Scotty's next
of kin, came out from behind Pat Murphy and snorted triumphantly. The
master reached out his powerful arm and swept the boy up onto his desk,
holding him there in a terrible grip. "Ah'll MacDonald ye!" he
shouted, shaking him to and fro. "Another MacDonald to be a wild beast
in the school! Ah'll knock the MacDonald out o' ye! Ye young English
wasp, ye!"

Scotty's face was white; but he remembered Callum and held his lips
firmly to keep from crying out. Peter Lauchie half rose, "He'll be no
more English than you!" he shouted. The master turned; he was facing
rebellion. "Peter MacDonald," he said in a low, thrilling tone, "you
will go out and cut me a stick, an' when Ah've taught this ill piece
with it Ah'll break it over your back!"

Peter Lauchie's defiance melted in the white glare of the master's
wrath. He arose and stumbled sullenly out of doors on his unpleasant
errand. Scotty had been placed in his especial care both by the boy's
grandmother and his own mother, and his soul writhed under the master's
command. Outside the door he paused, weighing the chances of returning
without the weapon; the master's tawse had been removed the night
before, and he