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.