moderately excited at first. But the views of barren hills, and sands, and ruins, and palm-trees, and cedars, wearied him after a while. He had closed his eyes, and the lecturer's voice became a sing-song in which his heart searched, as it always searched, for the music of the beach; when, by way of variety—for it had little to do with the subject—the lecturer slipped in a slide that was supposed to depict an incident on the homeward voyage—a squall in the Mediterranean.
It was a stirring picture, with an inky sky, and the squall bursting from it, and driving a small ship heeling over white crested waves. Of course the boys drew their breath.
And then something like a strangling sob broke out on the stillness, frightening the lecturer; and a shrill cry—
"Don't go—oh, damn it all! don't go! Take me—take me home!"
And there at the back of the room a small boy stood up on his form, and stretched out both hands to the painted ship, and shrieked and panted.
