Martin Rattler | Page 4

playin' at the fire."
"Come back to your place, sir!" cried the master, sternly.
Martin returned in haste, and resumed his position in the class. As he did so he observed that his fore-finger was covered with soot. Immediately a smile of glee overspread his features; and, while the master was busy with one of the boys, he drew his black finger gently down the forehead and nose of the boy next to him.
"What part of the earth was peopled by the descendants of Ham?" cried the master, pointing to the dux.
"Shem!" shrieked a small boy near the foot of the class.
"Silence!" thundered the master, with a frown that caused the small boy to quake down to the points of his toes.
"Asia!" answered dux.
"Next?"
"Turkey!"
"Next, next, next? Hallo! John Ward," cried the master, starting up in anger from his seat, "what do you mean by that, sir?"
"What, sir?" said John Ward, tremulously, while a suppressed titter ran round the class.
"Your face, sir! Who blacked your face, eh?"
"I--I--don't know," said the boy, drawing his sleeve across his face, which had the effect of covering it with sooty streaks.
An uncontrollable shout of laughter burst from the whole school, which was instantly followed by a silence so awful and profound that a pin might have been heard to fall.
"Martin Rattler, you did that! I know you did,--I see the marks on your fingers. Come here, sir! Now tell me; did you do it?"
Martin Rattler never told falsehoods. His old aunt had laboured to impress upon him from infancy that to lie was to commit a sin which is abhorred by God and scorned by man; and her teaching had not been in vain. The child would have suffered any punishment rather than have told a deliberate lie. He looked straight in the master's face and said, "Yes, sir, I did it."
"Very well, go to your seat, and remain in school during the play-hour."
With a heavy heart Martin obeyed; and soon after the school was dismissed.
"I say, Rattler," whispered Bob Croaker, as he passed, "I'm going to teach your white kitten to swim just now. Won't you come and see it?"
The malicious laugh with which the boy accompanied this remark convinced Martin that he intended to put his threat in execution. For a moment he thought of rushing out after him to protect his pet kitten; but a glance at the stern brow of the master, as he sat at his desk reading, restrained him; so, crushing down his feelings of mingled fear and anger, he endeavoured to while away the time by watching the boys as they played in the fields before the windows of the school.
CHAPTER III
THE GREAT FIGHT
"Martin!" said the school-master, in a severe tone, looking up from the book with which he was engaged, "don't look out at the window, sir; turn your back to it."
"Please, sir, I can't help it," replied the boy, trembling with eagerness as he stared across the fields.
"Turn your back on it, I say!" reiterated the master in a loud tone, at the same time striking the desk violently with his cane.
"Oh, sir, let me out! There's Bob Croaker with my kitten. He's going to drown it. I know he is,--he said he would; and if he does aunty will die, for she loves it next to me; and I must save it, and--and, if you _don't_ let me out--you'll be a murderer!"
At this concluding burst, Martin sprang forward and stood before his master with clenched fists and a face blazing with excitement. The schoolmaster's gaze of astonishment gradually gave place to a dark frown strangely mingled with a smile, and, when the boy concluded, he said quietly--"You may go."
No second bidding was needed. The door flew open with a bang; and the gravel of the play-ground, spurned right and left, dashed against the window panes as Martin flew across it. The paling that fenced it off from the fields beyond was low, but too high for a jump. Never a boy in all the school had crossed that paling at a spring, without laying his hands upon it; but Martin did. We do not mean to say that he did anything superhuman; but he rushed at it like a charge of cavalry, sprang from the ground like a deer, kicked away the top bar, tumbled completely over, landed on his head, and rolled down the slope on the other side as fast as he could have run down,--perhaps faster.
It would have required sharper eyes than yours or mine to have observed how Martin got on his legs again, but he did it in a twinkling, and was half across the field almost before you could wink, and panting on the heels of Bob Croaker. Bob saw him coming and instantly started off at a hard run, followed