Part 16 (1/2)

How Donald envied the boy. To serve a knight, he dreamed, even to see one. Would he had lived in the olden times when knighthood was in flower. But having been born centuries too late he tried in every way to live as the knights had lived. Daily he exercised, practiced physical feats, restrained himself from over indulgence, following out the program of those who would be knights. With s.h.i.+ning eyes he would often repeat his motto, the motto of Arthur's knights: ”Live pure, speak the truth, right the wrong, follow the Christ.”

Thus dreaming Donald grew and everybody loved him. Dreamer though he was, he ever kept before him the ideal of service. Tense with interest in the exploits of the black knight, he was often tempted not to answer when his mother called him from his reading to go on errands. Only a second, however, would temptation last. Launcelot could never approve of a boy who acted dishonestly.

Working, playing, and dreaming, Donald grew into a lovable boy, adept in all of the sports of boyhood and with the manners of a prince. He had reached the last year in grammar school, the graduating cla.s.s. Already the obligations of maturity were forcing themselves upon the boys and girls. They, for the first time in their school career, were an organized group. They were going to elect officers, dignified officers.

Nominations had been many and enthusiasm surged around the youthful candidates, but the choice for president had narrowed itself down between Donald and a laughing-eyed girl with crinkly black hair. As usual there were more girls in the cla.s.s than boys, but while the boys stood solidly as one behind the masculine candidate, there were a few girls who put their trust in manly courage rather than feminine charm and were disposed to break loose from the suffragette camp. Public opinion thus gave the election to Donald.

As the time for election drew near, the interest became more intense and the various camps campaigned vigorously, each striving to gain the majority vote. One day as the school was a.s.sembling in their usual room they were stopped by the sight of their princ.i.p.al questioning one of the members of the cla.s.s.

”But this is your knife, isn't it?” sternly inquired the princ.i.p.al.

”Yes, sir,” responded John, a trustworthy boy, the son of a widowed mother whom he helped by working after school hours.

”Mr. Starks found this knife underneath his broken window last night. It had evidently been dropped by the boy who, in climbing out of his cherry tree, accidentally smashed the window. You know that I announced last week that the next boy who was caught trespa.s.sing upon Mr. Starks'

property would be suspended from school for the rest of the year. I am disappointed in you, John. This does not sound like you. Did you drop this knife last night?”

”No, sir,” responded John.

”No? Well, speak up. Who had the knife?”

”I can't say, sir.”

”But you must. This is a serious matter. One of the rules of the school has been broken.” Then looking nervously around the room of girls and boys, the princ.i.p.al commanded: ”Will the boy who dropped this knife last night speak, or shall I be forced to find out the culprit for myself?”

There was no answer. Every boy stood taut, his eyes steadfastly before him in the thick silence that followed.

”Very well,” snapped the princ.i.p.al. ”John, who had the knife yesterday?”

”I cannot say, sir,” responded John unwillingly.

”You may do one of two things, either you will tell the name of the boy to whom you lent the knife or you may be suspended from school for the rest of the year.”

The silence was more intense. One, two, three minutes pa.s.sed.

”You are dismissed,” said the princ.i.p.al.

Slowly John left the room. Three days pa.s.sed. John's mother, much disturbed, bewailed the fact that he would lose this year out of his school life and, perhaps, would not have the opportunity of going again.

John thought of the responsibility toward his mother and then of that toward the boy whose fault he was concealing. Was he doing right or was he doing the easiest thing in not telling?

On the fourth day John sought the princ.i.p.al. ”If it is necessary to tell the name of the boy who had my knife before I can return to school, I will tell,” he anxiously said.

”It certainly is necessary.”

And John told.

There was great excitement in the graduating cla.s.s. The traditions of centuries had been broken. One of their number had become a tattler.

John resumed his school work, systematically and obviously shunned by the other boys.