“Sit down,” said the master to him. “I am sorry for you. You are a boy without a heart.”
This seemed to be the end of it all; but the little mason, who sits on the front bench, turned his round face towards Nobis, who sits on the back bench, and made such a fine and ridiculous hare's face at him, that the whole class burst into a shout of laughter. The master reproved him; but he was obliged to put his hand over his own mouth to hide a smile. And even Nobis laughed, but not in a pleasant way.
THE WOUNDS OF LABOR
Monday, 15th.
Nobis can be paired off with Franti: neither of them was affected this morning by the terrible sight which passed before our eyes.
On coming out of school, I was standing with my father and looking at some big boys of the second grade, who had thrown themselves on their knees and were wiping off the ice with their cloaks and caps, in order to make slides more quickly, when we saw a crowd of people appear at the end of the street, walking hurriedly, all serious and seemingly terrified, and talking in low tones. In the midst of them were three policemen, and behind the policemen two men carrying a litter. Boys hastened up from all quarters. The crowd advanced toward us. On the litter was stretched a man, pale as a corpse, with his head resting on one shoulder, and his hair tumbled and stained with blood, for he had been losing blood through the mouth
