no charms to-day, yet they would believe in charms that were worked a few thousand years ago, only they called them miracles.  It was useless to argue with a thick fellow like Tip.  I had always preferred to think of Daniel stilling the wild beasts by the grandeur of his soul, and the suggestion that I drag him from his throne, king of men and king of beasts, and picture him playing sock-ball, doing a double shuffle with his sandalled feet, tossing his long robe wildly about, now leaping, now dodging, to avoid the flying sphere—­it was too much.  It angered me.

“You should be ashamed of yourself, Daniel Arker!” I cried.  “The idea of a boy that comes of good church folks like yours talking that way about one of the prophets!  I’ll dally with you no more.  The boys shall see you as you are.  It’s books!”

I threw the window open and shouted, “Books!” I pounded on the ledge with my ruler and shouted, “Books!”

For a minute the boys feigned not to see me, and played the harder, trying to drown my cries in their yells to the runners on the bases.  But the girls took up my call and came trooping schoolward.  The little boys began to break away, and soon the school resounded with the shuffle of feet, the clatter of empty dinner pails, and the banging of desk tops.

“It’s books, William; hurry,” I cried to the last laggard.

I knew this boy well.  He was the biggest in the school, and to hold his position among his fellows he had to defy me.  As long as I watched him, he must lag.  The louder I called, the deafer he must seem to be.  His post was hemmed around by tradition.  It was his by divine right, and it involved on its holder duties sometimes onerous, often dangerous; but for him to abate one iota of his privileges would be a reflection on his predecessors, an injustice to his heirs.  It would mean scholastic revolution.  He knew that I must yell at him.  My position also was hemmed about by tradition.  To appear not to fear the biggest boy was one of the chief duties of a successful pedagogue.  We understood each other.  So I yelled once more and closed the window.  The moment my back was turned he ran for the door.

“It is,” Daniel Arker was shouting.

“It ain’t,” Samuel Carter retorted, sticking out his tongue.

“Boys, be quiet!” I commanded.

“He said his eye was swole worse ’an mine oncet,” cried Daniel.

His good eye was blazing, his shoulders were squared back, and his fists were clenched.  There was no sign of a snuffle about him now.  Heaven, but he looked fine!  All this time I had wronged Daniel.  I had only known him as he crawled to me broken and bruised after the conflict.  I had never known the odds he had encountered, for when I questioned him he just snuffled.  Now I saw him before the battle, ready to defend his honor against a lad of more than his years and size, and the wickedest fighter in the school.  I believed that had I let him loose there he would have whipped.  But one in my position is hemmed in by tradition, so in my private capacity I was patting the boy’s head with the same motion that I used in my public capacity to push him into his seat, while with a crutch I made a feint at Samuel that sent him scurrying to his place.