A FAITHFUL FRIEND

For two days Ward Hill continued in no enviable frame of mind. He felt hurt and humiliated by the words of Mr. Crane, and also felt that he had been hard and somewhat unjust in his judgment.

It was true that he had not referred to the disturbance in Ripley's room, but to Ward that seemed a trifling matter now. The struggle through which he was passing was uppermost in his thoughts, and before that, all else seemed insignificant and small.

And to Ward Hill it was a struggle of no small character. The stand which near the close of the preceding year he had taken for Henry had brought upon him the enmity of his former associates, and they had succeeded not only in annoying him themselves, but also in creating a prejudice against him in the school.

Henry, it was true, remained his true friend, but he was a boy who was never demonstrative, and Ward somehow felt the need of continued praise. In this particular he did not differ from other sensitive and bright lads; but in his own home and in the little village of Rockford, he had been so looked up to by all his associates that he had come to regard such feelings toward him as but his just and natural right.

Jack Hobart's good will he highly prized and also prized more than he himself was aware all the good-natured references to the possibilities of his becoming the valedictorian of the class; but Ward Hill, like many another when he finds himself beset with perplexities and difficulties, was more prone to dwell upon his lacks than upon his possessions, and consequently he was thinking much more of the words of implied blame which Mr. Crane had spoken, than he was of the encouragement and appreciation he had received.

And it was just because Mr. Crane thoroughly understood Ward that he had spoken as he did at the time of Ward's indirect statement. He had understood clearly that in the case which Ward had stated, he was speaking of himself. The disguise was very thin, and the teacher had listened attentively and with a full sense of what it all meant to the eager, impulsive boy.

But he had also seen, what Ward himself had failed to see, that as yet he had not faced his situation with the true spirit. It was his vanity which was suffering more than his sense of justice and right. Eager for the praise of the boys and his teachers, he had not as yet come to perceive that there was something deeper, stronger, better. It was with no lack of appreciation of the efforts Ward certainly was making to do better work in his classes and to cut himself loose from the more disorderly elements of the Weston school, that Mr. Crane had spoken, but because he clearly perceived that as yet the troubled boy was governed only by his feelings, and that deep down below all his desires to improve there lay a motive which must be purified before anything like a radical or permanent change in his life could be produced.

He had not failed to notice the pain his words produced, but as we are informed that "faithful are the wounds of a friend," he had resolved for the sake of the boy, whom he sincerely loved and whose brightness he was in no wise backward in acknowledging, that what he needed most was not praise and sympathy, but frankness and a true picture of himself.

Not the least of Ward's troubles arose from the fact that in his own heart there was a perception of the fact that the basis of all his regard for Mr. Crane was his confidence in the teacher's candor and sincerity. Ward felt that come what might Mr. Crane never said pleasing things just for the pleasure of saying them, or for the pleasure his praise might impart. In all this he was in marked contrast to Mr. Blake whose words of praise were so plentiful as to be cheap, and were bestowed so indiscriminately that they were slightly valued. Mr. Crane, on the contrary, was ever ready to speak a word of encouragement to any boy whom he perceived to be doing his best, but he never praised at the expense of truth. And perhaps it was because of the dim consciousness that there was too much truth in what he had heard, that Ward's bitterness was somewhat increased.

He could not conceal from himself the fact that in the preceding year, when he had been received into the "Tangs" and made much of by a class of boys whose ideals, home training, and lives had been very different from his own, that he had been somewhat elated by the attentions he had received and that his manner and bearing toward the other boys in the school had gradually undergone a marked change.

He had become somewhat overbearing and condescending in his dealings with them. He had assumed airs that did not become him and rejected many of the overtures of friendship that had been offered him. And as a consequence he had not gained them, and now he had lost the others. Did Mr. Crane know anything of that? Ward almost felt that he must, but the knowledge did not tend to increase his peace of mind at the time. In fact, Ward Hill wanted what he did not need, and needed what he did not want.

For two days, as we have said, the struggle went on in Ward's soul. At times he would be bitter and hard, feeling that it made no difference what he attempted to do, the hand of nearly every one was certain to be against him. Then again, his better self would assert itself and he would be able to see things in their true light.

To Henry he did not speak of his troubles. He worked faithfully and hard over his lessons, and knew that he was doing well in his classes; but somehow the knowledge did not bring him the satisfaction he had expected. He could not forget or ignore Mr. Crane's words, and the recollection of them was ever a disturbing element in his mind.

When the two days had passed, he sought out Jack, having resolved to seek his opinion, half hoping that his friend, who ever had good words for all, would have something to say to him which would be a comfort to his troubled soul.

It was in his room that he found his friend and after stating, as clearly and fully as he could recall, the conversation with Mr. Crane, he said abruptly: "Now, Jack, I want you to tell me just what you think. Am I a prig, like Big Smith? Do you think Mr. Crane was right? Am I to blame for what's coming to me?"

"Ward, I don't know," said Jack soberly after a brief silence.

Ward felt hurt and somewhat humiliated by his friend's reply. He was so anxious to be absolved from all blame that he had eagerly looked forward to Jack as a consoler. And now Jack's manner, far more than his words, seemed to imply that he too thought something was wrong with himself.

"It seems to me," said Ward, unable entirely to conceal his disappointment, "that a fellow who stands up for Henry as I did when the 'Tangs' got after him, isn't altogether bad. And why is Tim Pickard so down on me? If I'd gone into his scrapes, or if even now I'd go in again, he'd be all right, and you know it. I'd have my place on the nine and the fellows in the school wouldn't all be down on me as they now are."

"I don't know what to say to you," said Jack slowly. "You know how I feel, old fellow, and there isn't a chap in the school who would be so glad to have you take the place I know belongs to you as I would. I know Tim's to blame, but then you know how it was with Big Pond. He didn't go in with Tim and the 'Tangs,' and yet there hasn't been a fellow in school for years whom every one liked as they did Pond. Now I know him and I know you, and for the life of me I can't see just where the fault lies."

"Only you know they liked Pond and don't like me."

"It isn't as strong as that. It isn't that the fellows dislike you, Ward. That isn't it."

"It's that they don't like me," said Ward bitterly, determined to say the words which he perceived that J............