"Well, Alec," he said, "where have _you_ been?"
"To get a new strap for my skatcher," answered Alec.
"You're fond of skating--are you, Alec?"
"Yes, sir."
"I used to be when I was a boy. Have you had your dinner?"
"No, sir."
"Then I suppose your mother has not dined, either?"
"She never does till I go home, sir."
"Then I won't intrude upon her. I did mean to call this afternoon."
"She will be very glad to see you, sir. Come and take a share of what
there is."
"I think I had better not, Alec."
"Do, sir. I am sure she will make you welcome."
Mr Malison hesitated. Alec pressed him. He yielded; and they went along
the road together.
I shall not have to show much more than half of Mr Malison's life--the
school half, which, both inwardly and outwardly, was very different
from the other. The moment he was out of the school, the moment, that
is, that he ceased for the day to be responsible for the moral and
intellectual condition of his turbulent subjects, the whole
character--certainly the whole deportment--of the man changed. He was
now as meek and gentle in speech and behaviour as any mother could have
desired.
Nor was the change a hypocritical one.
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