Geordie was picturing the end of the fight.

I asked him if he had a sweetheart, and he blushed deeply. He told me
that he often took fancies for girls, but they would not have him. Frank
Murray always cut him out; Frank was a big hefty lad and the girls like
the beefy manly boy.

He does much day-dreaming, phantasying it is called in analysis. His
dreams always take the form of conquests; in his day-dream he is the best
fighter in the school, the best scholar, the most loved of the girls.
His night dreams are often terrifying, and he has more than once dreamt
that his father and Macdonald were dead. He finds compensation for his
weaknesses in his day-dreams and his reading. He likes tales of heroes
who always kill the villians and carry off the heroines.

It is difficult to know what to do in a case like this. The best way
would be to change the boy's environment, but that is out of the
question. Even then the early fears would go with him; he would transfer
his father-complex to another man.

I tried to explain to Mac the condition of Geordie. The boy is all
bottled up; his energy should be going into play and work, but instead it
is regressing, going back to early ways of adaptation to environment.

"But what can I do with him?" asked Mac.

"Give him your love," I said. "He fears you now, and your attitude to
him makes him worse. You must never punish him again, Mac."

"That's all very well," said Mac ruefully, "but what am I to do? Suppose
Tom Murray and he talk during a lesson, am I to whack Tom and allow
Geordie to get off?"

"Chuck punishment altogether," I said. "You don't need it; it is always
the resort of a weak teacher."

"I couldn't do without it," he said.

"All right then," I said wearily, "but I want you to realise that your
punishments are making Geordie a cripple for life."

* * * * *

I went down and had a talk with Geordie's father. He was not very
pleasant about it; indeed he was almost unpleasant.

"There's nothing wrong wi' the laddie," he said aggressively. "He's a
wee bit lassie-like and he has no pluck."

Here Geordie entered the kitchen, and his father turned on him harshly.

"Started to yer lessons yet?" he demanded.

Geordie muttered something about having had to feed his rabbits.

"I'll rabbit ye! Get yer books oot this minute!" and Geordie crept to a
corner and rummaged among some old clothes for his school-bag.

I tried to be a