The injury to the head was supposed to be the only one he had sustained;
and after the surgeon had done his work, the poor boy was borne away on
a litter to his home, still insensible, and surrounded by his
companions, mute with emotion. That day was destined to make an
impression upon the school, its master, and all that heard of the awful
catastrophe.
A few hours later and a group of boys collected in the playground. Their
conversation was in whispers; horror sat upon every face; all were pale
and awe stricken. Charles Mansfield approached.
"How is poor Will now, have you heard?"
"Oh, Charlie!" several exclaimed at once as they gathered around him.
"Oh! don't you know? haven't you heard? Why, he opened his eyes and
spoke, but they think his back is broken."
Charles clasped his hands, lifted them high in the air, uttered not a
word, but burst into tears. For a few minutes he wept in silence, and
then, still pale and grief stricken, but with a manly voice, he said to
his companions:--
"Boys, shall we ever forget the lesson of this day?"
And poor Will--words would be too feeble to portray his agony of body
and mind as he lay for long months upon his bed of suffering; but when
he arose therefrom, with a feeble and distorted body, and a scar upon
his forehead, he was changed in heart also, crushed in spirit, humble,
and contrite.
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