THE MORNING WATCH
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affection he could at all depend, he became sure that there was not
one who would <:a-operate in this, or even really understand about it.
It would be necessary instead to anger and deceive people he dis–
liked into doing it: but that, he felt, was both unlikely and sinful.
If
he got dlem mad they would do what they wanted to him, not what
he wanted them to do, and he could not imagine how to suggest to
them that the one thing he didn't want was to be stripped of
his
garments (except for a loincloth) and tied to a bedstead for three
hours. And even if he should manage to, he would be tricking them
into a sin, and that would be a sin of itself. It was easier just to
imagine it as something already done, and as soon as he forgot about
the problems of getting it done it was better, too.
There he hung, the iron bars and edged slats of the bed acutely
painful against flesh and bone alike; but he made no complaint.
Rather, his eyes were fixed steadfastly upon the expiring eyes of
his crucified Lord, and his own suffering was as naught. There was
a steady murmuring of scorn, pity, regard and amazement beneath
him, and now and again a familiar face and voice was lifted, plead–
ing with him or commanding him to come down. Father McPhet–
ridge, the Prior; his wide red face reared up and told
him
that this was
the most outrageous thing that had ever been done by a boy in this
School and that he was to stop it immediately and come down. and
take his punishment like a man. He replied, gently and calmly, his
voice all the more effective because of its quietness after all that
indignant roaring, that "punishment" (he smiled at the word in his
suffering) would have to come at its own good time; he would
descend (with their help) promptly at three
0'
clock and not before;
and would give himself up to his punishers without making a strug–
gle. Scourge me, he
said~
paddle me with the one with holes in it;
put me on bounds all the rest of the year; expel me even; there is
nothing you can do that won't be to the greater glory of God and
so I forgive you. The Prior, abashed, withdrew; Richard saw his
whispering among the other monks and the teachers and his face was
redder than ever, and their whispering eyes were on
him.
The football
coach Braden Bennett, who had so often sneered at
his
music lessons;
his face was changed, now: though with a scornful wonder, men
see her sore oppressed. He looked straight back into those bullying
eyes, with such quiet fortitude and forgiveness that the scorn and the
