On One Of
These Occasions, Something - Our Stupidity Perhaps, Or An Exceptionally
Bad Headache - Tried Him Beyond Endurance, And Taking Down His
_Revenque_, Or Native Horse-Whip Made Of Raw Hide, From The Wall,
He Began Laying About Him With Such Extraordinary Fury That The Room
Was Quickly In An Uproar.
Then all at once my mother appeared on the
scene, and the tempest was stilled, though the master, with the whip
in his uplifted hand, still stood, glaring with rage at us.
She stood
silent a moment or two, her face very white, then spoke: "Children,
you may go and play now. School is over;" then, lest the full purport
of her words should not be understood, she added, "Your schoolmaster
is going to leave us."
It was an unspeakable relief, a joyful moment; yet on that very day,
and on the next before he rode away, I, even I who had been unjustly
and cruelly struck with a horsewhip, felt my little heart heavy in me
when I saw the change in his face - the dark, still, brooding look, and
knew that the thought of his fall and the loss of his home was
exceedingly bitter to him. Doubtless my mother noticed it, too, and
shed a few compassionate tears for the poor man, once more homeless on
the great plain. But he could not be kept after that insane outbreak.
To strike their children was to my parents a crime; it changed their
nature and degraded them, and Mr. Trigg could not be forgiven.
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