Ten minutes later she was called out, and Dick was delivered into her
hands.
'Better lock him up fer the night,' said Peterson, looking in a puzzled
way at Dick.
The boy bad not shed a tear nor uttered a cry. He stood stock still under
the flailing, and the heart went out of Peterson. Had Dick fought or
struggled, it would have been all right and natural; but this was such a
cold-blooded business, and a strange but strongly-felt superiority of
spirit in the boy awed and confused the big man, and the beating was but
gingerly done after all.
'Come, Dickie, dear,' said Mrs. Haddon, in a penitent tone and with much
humility.
She led the boy into his room, and there addressed a diffident and
halting speech to him. There were times when Mrs. Haddon had a sense of
being younger and weaker than her son, and this was one of them. She felt
it her duty to tell Dick of the sinfulness of his conduct, and to try to
justify the punishment, but her words fell ineptly from her lips,--she
knew them to be vain against the power that held Dick silent and
tearless, and yet without a trace of boyish stubbornness. She was not a
very wise little woman, or her son's force of character might have been
turned early to good works and profitable courses.
In truth the thrashing had had an extraordinary effect on Richard Haddon.
For a boy to be kicked, or clouted, or tweaked by strange men is the
fortune of war--it is a mere everyday incident, the natural and accepted
fate of all boys, and is swiftly resented with a jibe or a missile and
forgotten on the spot; but to be taken in cold blood by one strange man,
not a schoolmaster or in any way privileged, and deliberately and
systematically larruped with a belt under the eyes of another, is burning
shame.
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