equence he had made his position more serious than that of other
boys who were in every sense of the word twice as bad as himself. But
what he laid to the score of his ill-luck was in truth a very happy
providence by which punishment was sent speedily and heavily upon him,
and so his evil tendencies, mercifully nipped in the bud, crushed with a
tender yet with an iron hand before they had expanded more blossoms and
been fed by deeper roots. He might have been punished less speedily had
his faults been more radical, or his wrong-doings of a deeper dye.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE BURNT MANUSCRIPT.

All
All my poor scrapings, from a dozen years
Of dust and desk-work.

Sea Dreams.

It may be supposed that during chapel the next morning, and when he went
into early school, Walter was in an agony of almost unendurable
suspense; and this suspense was doomed to be prolonged for some time,
until at last he could hardly sit still. Mr Paton did not at once
notice that his desk was broken. He laid down his books, and went on as
usual with the morning lesson.

At length Tracy was put on. He stood up in his usual self-satisfied
way, looking admiringly at his boots, and running his delicate white
hand through his scented hair. Mr Paton watched him with a somewhat
contemptuous expression, as though he were thinking what a pity it was
that any boy should be such a little puppy. Henderson, with his usual
quick discrimination, had nicknamed Tracy the "Lisping Hawthornbud."

"Your fifth failure this week, Tracy; you must do the usual punishment,"
said Mr Paton, taking up his key to unlock the desk.

"Now for it," thought all the form, looking on with great anxiety.

The key caught hopelessly in the broken lock. Mr Paton's attention was
aroused; he pushed the lid off the desk, and saw at once that it had
been broken open.

"Who has broken open my desk?"

No answer.

He looked very grave, but said nothing, looking for his imposition-book.

"Where is my imposition-book?"

No answer.

"And where is my--?"

Mr Paton stopped, and looked with the greatest eagerness over every
corner of the desk.

"Where is the manuscript I left here with my imposition-book?" he said
in a tone of the most painful anxiety.

"I do hope and trust," he said, turning pale, "that none of you have
been wicked enough to injure it," and here his voice faltered. "When I
tell you that it was of the utmost value, I am sure that if any o