In spite of his forebodings nothing more untoward befell him that
morning than a cut over the cowering shoulders for being late, as
he crept to the bottom of his class. He reached "leave," the ten
minutes' run at twelve o'clock, without misadventure. Perhaps it
was this unwonted good fortune that made him boastful, when he
crouched near the pump among his cronies, sitting on his hunkers
with his back to the wall. Half a dozen boys were about him, and
Swipey Broon was in front, making mud pellets in a trickle from the
pump.
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