AS Benny Mallow hid himself in a barn in the yard into which he had jumped, he had only one distinct thought in his mind: he wished that the Italian had never come to Laketon at all—never come to the United States, in fact. He wished that the Italians had never heard of such a place as America: if one of the race had to discover it, he need not have gone and let his fellow-countrymen know all about it, so that they should come over with organs and monkeys, and get boys into trouble—boys that weren’t doing a thing to that organ-grinder when he threw a stick at them. What made the fellow go into the school-yard, anyway? No one asked him to come. Now there would be a fuss made, of course; and if there was anything that Benny hated more than all other things, it was a fuss.

But what if the organ-grinder should really prove to be dead? Oh! that would be too dreadful; all the boys would have to be hanged, to be sure of punishing the murderer, just as the whole class was sometimes kept in for an hour because something wrong had been done, and no one would tell who did it.

Benny could not bear the thought of so dreadful a termination to his life, for he knew of a great deal worth living for; besides, his mother would need his help as soon as he grew old enough to earn anything. What should he do? Wait until dark, and then run away, and tramp off to the West, where other runaway boys went, or should he make for the sea-board, and from there to South America, from which country he had heard that criminals could not be brought back?

But first he ought to learn whether the man was really dead; it might not be necessary to run away at all. But how should he find out? Suddenly he remembered that Mr. Wardwell’s barn, in which he was, had a window opening on the alley; so he crept up into the loft, and spent several moments in trying to look up the alley without putting his head out of the window. Finally, he partly hid his face by holding a handful of hay in front of it, and peered out. Between the stalks of hay he was delighted to see the organ-grinder on his feet, although two men were helping him. They were not both men, either, Benny saw, after more careful looking, for one of them was Paul Grayson; but the other—horror of horrors!—was Mr. Stott, a justice of the peace. Benny knew that Justice Stott had sent many men to jail for fighting, and if Grayson should tell who took part in the attack, Benny had not the slightest doubt that half of Mr. Morton’s pupils would be sent to jail too.

This seemed more dreadful than the prospect of being hanged had done, but it could be done more quickly. Benny determined at once that he must find out the worst, and be ready for it; so he waited until the injured man and his supporters had turned the corner of a street, and were out of sight; then he bounded into the alley again, hurried home, seized a basket that was lying beside the back door, and a moment later was sauntering along the street, whistling, and moving in a direction that seemed to be that in which he might manage to meet the three as if by accident. He did not take much comfort out of his whistling, for in his heart he felt himself to be the most shameful hypocrite that had existed since the days of Judas Iscariot, and the recollection of having been told by his Sunday-school teacher within a week that he was the best boy in his class seemed to make him feel worse instead of better; and his mind was not relieved of this unpleasant burden until at a shady corner he came suddenly upon the organ-grinder and his supporters, when he instantly exchanged his load for a new one.

“Why, what’s the matter, Paul?” asked Benny, with as much surprise in his tone and manner as he could affect.

Justice Stott had just gone into an adjacent yard for water for the Italian, when Grayson answered, with a very sober face, “You know as well as I do, Benny, and I saw the whole crowd.”

“I don’t!” exclaimed Benny, in all the desperation of cowardice. “I didn’t do or see—”

“Sh—h!” whispered Grayson, “the Justice is coming back.”

Benny turned abruptly and started for home. He felt certain that his face was telling tales, and that Justice Stott would learn the whole story if he saw him. There was one comfort, though: it was evident that Grayson did not want the Justice to know that Benny had taken part in the affair.

There was a great deal of business transacted by the boys of Laketon that night. How it was all managed no one could have explained, but it is certain that before bedtime every boy who had taken part in the assault on the Italian knew that the man was not dead, but had merely been stunned and cut by a stone, and Paul Grayson knew who were of the party that chased the man up the alley. Various plans of getting out of trouble were in turn suggested and abandoned; but several boys for a long time insisted that the only chance of safety lay in calling Grayson out of his boarding-house, and threatening him with the worst whipping that the boys, all working together, could give. Even this idea was finally abandoned when Will Palmer suggested that as Grayson boarded with the teacher, and seemed to be in some sort a friend of his, he probably would already have told all he knew, if he was going to tell at all. Some consolation might have been got out of a report of Benny’s short interview with Grayson, had Benny thought to give it, but he had, on reaching home, promptly feigned headache, and gone to bed; so such of the boys as did not determine to play truant, and so postpone the evil day, thought bitterly of the morrow as they dispersed to their several homes.

There was not as much playing as usual in the school-yard next morning; and when the class was summoned into school, the teacher had no difficulty in discovering, by the looks of the various boys, who were innocent and who guilty. Immediately after calling the roll Mr. Morton stood up and said:

“Boys, a great many of you know what I am going to talk about. Usually your deeds done out of school-hours are not for me to notice; but the cowardly, shameful treatment of that organ-grinder began in the school-yard, and before you had gone to your homes, so I think it my duty to inquire into the matter. Justice Stott thinks so too. When any one has done a wrong that he cannot amend, the only manly course is to confess. I want those boys who followed the organ-grinder up the alley to stand up.”

No boy arose. Benny Mallow wished that some one would give the bottom of his seat a hard kick, so that he would have to rise in spite of himself, but no one kicked.

“Be honest, now,” said Mr. Morton. “I have been a boy myself; I have taken part in just such tricks. I know how bad you feel, and how hard it is to confess; but I give you my word that you will feel a great deal better after telling the truth. I will give you one minute more before I try another plan.”

Mr. Morton took out his watch, and looked at it; the boys who had not been engaged in the mischief looked virtuously around them, and the guilty boys looked at their desks.

“Now,” exclaimed Mr. Morton, replacing his watch in his pocket. “Stand up like men. Will none of you do it?”

Benny Mallow whispered, “Yes, sir,” but the teacher did not hear him; besides, Benny made no effort to keep his word, so his whispering amounted to nothing.

“Grayson,” said Mr. Morton, “come here.”

Bert Sharp, who sat near the front of the room, where the teacher could watch him, edged to the end of his seat, so as to be ready to jump up and run away the moment Grayson told—if he dared to tell. Most of the other boys found their hearts so high in their throats that they could not swallow them again, as Grayson, looking very white and uncomfortable, stepped to the front.

“Grayson,” said the teacher, “I have known you for many months: have I ever been unkind to you?”

“No, sir,” replied Grayson; then he wiped his eyes; seeing which, Bert Sharp thought he might as well run now as later, for boys who began by crying always ended by telling.

“You saw the attack made on the Italian; Justice Stott says you admitted as much to him. Now I want you to tell me who were of the party.”

“May I speak first, sir?” asked Grayson.

“Yes,” said the teacher.

“Boys,” said Grayson, half facing the school, “you all hate a tell-tale, and so do I. Do you think it the fair thing to hold your tongues and make a tell-tale of me?”

Grayson looked at Will Palmer as he spoke, but Will only looked sulky in return; then Grayson looked at Benny Mallow, and Benny was fast making up his mind that he would tell rather than have his friend do it, when up stood Bert Sharp and said,

“Mr. Morton, I was there.”

“Bravo, Sharp!” exclaimed the teacher. “Grayson, you may take your seat. Sharp, step to the front. Now, boys, who is man enough to stand beside Sharp?”

“I am,” piped Benny Mallow, and he almost ran in his eagerness.

“It’s no use,” whispered Will Palmer to Ned Johnston, and the two boys went to the front together; then there was a general uprising, and a scramble to see who should not be last.

“Good!” exclaimed Mr. Morton, looking at the culprits and then about the school-room; “I believe you’re all here. I’m proud of you, boys. You did a shameful thing in attacking a harmless man, but you have done nobly by confessing. I cannot let you off without punishment, but you will suffer far less than you would have done by successfully concealing your fault. None of you are to go out at recess next week. Now go to your seats. Sharp, you may take any unoccupied desk you like. After this I think I can trust you to behave yourself without being watched.”

The boys had never before seen Sharp look as he did as he walked to a desk in the back of the room and sat down. As soon as the bell was struck for recess Grayson hurried over to Sharp and said,

“You helped me out of a terrible scrape, do you know it?”

“I’m glad of it,” said Sharp. “And that isn’t all; I wish I could think of something else to own up to.”