“Not by a good deal;” and in spite of himself Fred was dragged into an ignominious street fight.

Oh, how grieved and mortified he was when his father, coming down the street, saw and called to him.  Hearing his voice Sam ran away and Fred, bruised and smarting, with his books torn and his clothes, too, went over to his father.

Not a word did Mr. Sargent say.  He took Fred’s hand in his, and the two walked silently to their home.

I doubt whether Mr. Sargent was acting wisely.  Fred never had told him an untruth in his life, and a few words now might have set matters right.  But to this roughness in boys Mr. Sargent had a special aversion.  He had so often taken pains to instill its impropriety and vulgarity into Fred’s mind that he could not now imagine an excuse.

“He should not have done so under any circumstances,” said his father sternly, to himself.  “I am both surprised and shocked, and the punishment must be severe.”

Unfortunately for Fred, his mother was out of town for a few days—­a mother so much sooner than a father reaches the heart of her son—­so now his father said: 

“You will keep your room for the next week.  I shall send your excuse to your teacher.  Ellen will bring your meals to you.  At the end of that time I will see and talk with you.”

Without a word Fred hung his cap upon its nail, and went to his room.  Such a sudden change from success and elation to shame and condign punishment was too much for him.

He felt confused and bewildered.  Things looked dark around him, and the great boughs of the Norway spruce, close up by his window, nodded and winked at him in a very odd way.

He had been often reproved, and sometimes had received a slight punishment, but never anything like this.  And now he felt innocent, or rather at first he did not feel at all, everything was so strange and unreal.

He heard Ellen come into his room after a few minutes with his dinner, but he did not turn.

A cold numbing sense of disgrace crept over him.  He felt as if, even before this Irish girl, he could never hold up his head again.

He did not wish to eat or do anything.  What could it all mean?

Slowly the whole position in which he was placed came to him.  The boys gathering at school; the surprise with which his absence would be noted; the lost honor, so lately won; his father’s sad, grave face; his sisters’ unhappiness; his mother’s sorrow; and even Sam’s face, so ugly in its triumph, all were there.

What an afternoon that was!  How slowly the long hours dragged themselves away!  And yet until dusk Fred bore up bravely.  Then he leaned his head on his hands.  Tired, hungry, worn out with sorrow, he burst into tears and cried like a baby.

Don’t blame him.  I think any one of us would have done the same.

“Oh, mother! mother!” said Fred aloud, to himself, “do come home! do come home!”