Suddenly he bethought himself of his speculations concerning his place in the class.  It seemed that he had been deeply envious of Davidson all that year.  With a quick turn of the head he surveyed for a moment the haughty expression and narrowly drawn postures of the boy beside him.  There was a trace of a sneer on that face, and again Keith’s heart was flooded with resentment.  But this mood changed abruptly into contriteness.  Perhaps he was being punished by some one, by God—­he hesitated at that thought—­for grudging his schoolmate the place and the honours that he probably had deserved.  Keith was the meanest of the mean....

Krass was back in his seat showing his book.  He showed it to Keith also, but with a palpable embarrassment that touched the latter as an additional blow.  Keith tried to say that it was nice, but his lips were too dry and stiff to produce a sound.

The Rector was still reading off names.  To save himself from his own thoughts, Keith tried to listen.  Soon he noticed that, without fail, the prizes went in unbroken sequence to the first four or five pupils in every grade.  And suddenly he wondered whether his father and mother had noticed.  What would they say?  What could he say?

Then he remembered his mother’s remark on hearing about his place in the class, and he wondered if it could be possible....  But the parents of Krass had neither wealth nor position.  That much he knew.

The Rector’s voice and manner became more and more impressive, and the prizes more and more valuable, as he passed higher and higher, until at last the senior class was reached—­the boys who were now graduating into the gymnasium.  They were his own pupils, and for each of the prize winners from the two branches of that class he had a word of special praise and good-will.

A restless stirring passed through the assembly as the boy expected to be the last recipient of special honours made his way to the platform and everybody prepared to rise for the singing of a closing hymn.

Still the old Rector, with his smooth-shaven and deeply furrowed Roman face, remained standing, and once more an expectant hush fell upon pupils and spectators.  Apparently he intended, contrary to custom, to follow up the main ceremony of the day with some important announcement.

“One more prize remains to be distributed,” he resumed with more than usual deliberation.  “We do not have the pleasure of bestowing it regularly, because its conditions are unusual.  It was the will of the donor that it should be given to that pupil who, regardless of grade and age, during the previous year had shown the relatively greatest aptitude, industry, and actual advance in knowledge.  This year the prize, which consists of one hundred crowns in gold and is the largest at the disposal of our school, is to be distributed, and the pupil found worthy of this exceptional honour is....”

Every eye was on the Rector as he paused dramatically.  Every one in the hall listened breathlessly to catch the favoured name.  Keith listened like the rest, a little enviously perhaps, but without serious attention, for it had just occurred to him for the tenth time that the situation would have been so much less unbearable if only his father had stayed away.