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 necessarily enemies, and that there existed a wonderful occupation by the name of play.

School was an experience for Angus—when his first fear wore off and experience proved to him that nobody knew who or what he was. Strange boys made advances to him. The teacher was kind. She watched him with experienced eye and called him to her desk.

“You’re lonesome,” she said.

For a moment Angus made no reply. Then he said, “He had to go back.” That explained everything.

“He? Who?”

“Mr. Wilkins.”

“Who is Mr. Wilkins?”

Angus pondered this a moment. He didn’t know exactly who Mr. Wilkins was—except that—he fumbled for a reply.

“There ain’t anybody but Mr. Wilkins,” he said.

“And he left you here alone?”

Angus comprehended a veiled criticism and resented it. There came a flash in his eyes, an alertness upon his face which quite transfigured him.

“He had to,” said Angus.

The teacher’s curiosity was stirred. Yet, looking at Angus, she knew it would be useless to question him. Her experience with boys had