world, and expecting it.  To me there was nothing strange or incongruous in heaven’s making such an uproar about Lem Hackett.  Apparently it was the right and proper thing to do.  Not a doubt entered my mind that all the angels were grouped together, discussing this boy’s case and observing the awful bombardment of our beggarly little village with satisfaction and approval.  There was one thing which disturbed me in the most serious way; that was the thought that this centering of the celestial interest on our village could not fail to attract the attention of the observers to people among us who might otherwise have escaped notice for years.  I felt that I was not only one of those people, but the very one most likely to be discovered.  That discovery could have but one result:  I should be in the fire with Lem before the chill of the river had been fairly warmed out of him.  I knew that this would be only just and fair.  I was increasing the chances against myself all the time, by feeling a secret bitterness against Lem for having attracted this fatal attention to me, but I could not help it—­this sinful thought persisted in infesting my breast in spite of me.  Every time the lightning glared I caught my breath, and judged I was gone.  In my terror and misery, I meanly began to suggest other boys, and mention acts of theirs which were wickeder than mine, and peculiarly needed punishment—­and I tried to pretend to myself that I was simply doing this in a casual way, and without intent to divert the heavenly attention to them for the purpose of getting rid of it myself.  With deep sagacity I put these mentions into the form of sorrowing recollections and left-handed sham-supplications that the sins of those boys might be allowed to pass unnoticed—­’Possibly they may repent.’  ’It is true that Jim Smith broke a window and lied about it—­but maybe he did not mean any harm.  And although Tom Holmes says more bad words than any other boy in the village, he probably intends to repent—­though he has never said he would.  And whilst it is a fact that John Jones did fish a little on Sunday, once, he didn’t really catch anything but only just one small useless mud-cat; and maybe that wouldn’t have been so awful if he had thrown it back—­as he says he did, but he didn’t.  Pity but they would repent of these dreadful things—­and maybe they will yet.’

But while I was shamefully trying to draw attention to these poor chaps —­who were doubtless directing the celestial attention to me at the same moment, though I never once suspected that—­I had heedlessly left my candle burning.  It was not a time to neglect even trifling precautions.  There was no occasion to add anything to the facilities for attracting notice to me—­so I put the light out.