ticulars of what occurred Saturday afternoon," said the master of the Hall, as he laid down a letter he had been perusing. "Porter, you may relate your story first."
Without unnecessary details, Dave told his tale in a straightforward manner,—how the boys had been having a snowball fight, how somebody had cried out that Horsehair was coming in a cutter, and how they had thought to have a little fun with the school driver by pelting him with snowballs.
"We have often done it before," went on Dave. "Horsehair—I mean Lemond—doesn't seem to mind it, and sometimes he snowballs us in return."
"Then you did not know it was Mr. Haskers?"
"No, sir—not until I had thrown the snowball."
Then Dave told of Haskers's anger, and of how they had been ordered to the office and had gone there.
"I told him I was sorry I had hit him, but he would not listen to me, and he wouldn't listen when Phil apologized. He said he would accept no apologies, but was going to give us the thrashing we deserved. Then he took the whip he carried and tried to strike me. I wouldn't stand for that and I caught hold of the whip. He told me to let go and I said I wouldn't unless he promised not to strike at me again. Then he struggled to get the whip from my grasp and pushed me back-
