m-stick," cried William Bartholomew, the sneak of
the school.

"He best have been switching thee with it, then," cried Jonathan
Winthrop. "Thou never hast thy share of the whippings--does he, mates?"
and frank-faced Jonathan turned to his companions.

"Truly thou and I, Jonathan, need not complain that we have not our
share of the fun and the twigs," laughed Christopher Corwin, as he laid
his arm on Jonathan's, and shrugged his shoulders at the thought of
numerous beatings. For Jonathan Winthrop and Christopher Corwin, with
their plots and pranks, were enough to make poor Master Halleck sell his
soul to the Evil One, as report said he had done.

"His ferule was sharp as a knife," said overgrown Jo Tucker, the butt of
the school.

"Truly," cried William Bartholomew, "sharper than thy wits, we doubt
not; or thy knife either, for that was never known to cut aught."

"Keep thy tongue in thy head, Billy Mew; none ever said that was not
sharp enough," put in Christopher Corwin.

"I do not believe he is a witch," said Samuel Shaddoe, a quiet boy,
dressed in very plain drab clothes, and a wider brimmed hat than the
others.

"Oh, doesn't thee?" cried several.

"Thou art but a Quaker thyself, and a Quaker's as bad as a witch any
day," shouted Robert Pike.

"There, muddle thy stockings in yon mud puddle for that speech, thou
water-loving Baptist," cried Christopher Corwin, as he jostled Baptist
Bob in some water by the way.

"Hurrah for the witch, and a long play-day!" cried the boys.

"Peace! peace! ye noisy urchins!" said Magistrate Sewall, as he stepped
suddenly from a doorway. "The master has imps of the earth as well as
the air, I see. Get ye home less noisily, or we must needs put ye in
yonder prison with the master."

The awe of the magistrate's presence had the desired effect, and the
crowd broke up in groups of two or three, and each took his way homeward
quietly.

"Jonathan, doest thou believe the master dotted his i's and crossed his
t's when he signed his name in the Black Man's book in the forest
yonder?" said Christopher, as the two boys walked home together.

"Nay, I know not," said Jonathan, absently.

"Verily, I hope the Black Man cracked him across his knuckles, if he did
not," said Christopher; and he thought of his own often-aching fists.

"Chris, thou art too wise to believe the poor master's a witch," said
Jonathan.

"Nay, how could I be, when the magistrates themselves, and all the wise