The Victim | Page 8

strange leather couch and drew the straps around his slim body. He had dreamed of mercy, but all hope vanished now. He held his breath and set his lips to receive the blow--the first he had ever felt.
The monk took the switch in his hand and hesitated. He loved the bright, handsome lad. The task was harder than he thought.
He knelt beside the cot and put his hand on the dark little head:
"I hate to strike you, my son--"
"Don't then, Father," was the eager answer.
"I've always had a very tender spot in my heart for you. Tell me what you know and it'll be all right."
"I can't--"
"No matter how little, and I'll let you off."
"Will you?"
"I promise."
"I know one thing," the Boy said with a smile.
"Yes?"
"I know who blew out the light."
"Good!"
"If I tell you that much, you'll let me off?"
"Yes, my son."
The little head wagged doubtfully:
"Honest, now, Father?"
"I give you my solemn word."
"I blew it out!"
The fine old face twitched with suppressed laughter as he loosed the straps, sat down on the cot and drew the youngster in his lap.
"You're a bright chap, my son. You'll go far in this world some day. A great diplomat perhaps, but the road you've started on to-night can only lead you at last into a blind alley. You know now that I love you, don't you?"
"Yes, Father."
"Come now, my Boy, there's too much strength and character in those fine eyes and that splendid square chin and jaw for you to let roistering fools lead you by the nose. You wouldn't have gotten into that devilment if they hadn't persuaded you--now would you?"
"No."
"All right. Use the brain and heart God has given you. Don't let fools use it for their own ends. Do your own thinking. Be your own man. Stand on your own bottom."
And then, in low tones, the fine old face glowing with enthusiasm, the monk talked to his little friend of Truth and Right, of Character and Principle, of Love and God, until the tears began to slowly steal down the rosy cheeks.
A new resolution fixed itself in the Boy's soul. He would live his own life. No other human being should do it for him.

V
HOME
The mother's heart rebelled at last. She would not be put off longer. Her baby had been gone two years. She refused point blank to listen to any further argument.
Charles Green, the young Mississippian, studying law in Kentucky, and acting as the Boy's guardian, was notified to bring him at the end of the spring term.
On a glorious day in June they left Bardstown for Louisville, to take the new steamboat line for home. These wonderful boats were the marvels of their day. Their names conveyed but a hint of the awe they inspired. The fleet of three vessels bore the titles, Volcano, Vesuvius and ?tna. And the sparks that flew heavenward from their black chimneys were far more impressive to the people who crowded the shores than the smoke and lava of old Vesuvius to the lazy loungers of Naples.
The Boy saw his pony safely housed on board the ?tna, and amid the clang of bells and the scream of whistles, the floating wonder swung out from her wharf into the yellow tide of the Ohio.
Scores of people crowded her decks for the pleasure of a ride ten miles down the river to return in their carriages.
The Captain of the ?tna, Robinson DeHart, held the Boy in a spell by his lofty manners. He had been a sailor on board an ocean-going brig. To him the landing of his vessel was an event, no matter how often the stop was made, whether to put off a single passenger, or take on a regiment. In fact, he never landed the ?tna, even to take on a cord of wood, without the use of his enormous speaking trumpet and his big brass spy-glass.
A beautiful, slow, uneventful voyage on the Father of Waters landed the Boy in safety at the Woodville stopping-place. He leaped down the gang-plank with a shout and clasped his Big Brother's hand.
"My, my, but you've grown, Boy!"
"Haven't I?"
"Won't little mother be surprised and glad?"
"Let's fool her," the Boy cried. "Let me go up by myself and she won't know me!"
"All right--we'll try."
The brother stopped at the village and the young stranger walked alone to his father's house. How beautiful it all seemed--the big log house with the cabins clustering around it! A horse neighed at the barn and a colt answered from the field.
He walked boldly up to the porch and just inside the door sat his lovely mother. She had been one of the most beautiful girls in all South Carolina in her day, his father had often said. She was beautiful still. She had known what happiness was. She was the