"Hey! What's this?" Billy cried, swooping in and tearing the ball of clay from Cole's grasp, as he sat in the cloakroom, tossing it from hand to hand.

Billy ran into the classroom with the ball – Cole hot on his heels.

"Give it back!" Cole pleaded, reaching to snatch it back from Billy, who quickly moved it out of reach.

"What even is this?" Billy asked, wiping his clay-covered hand on his pants, a note of laughter in his voice.

Cole pushed Billy in the chest, causing Billy to stumble back into a desk. Billy may have been stockier than Cole, but it was Cole who had the height advantage, as well as the benefit that only cold, mounting fury could provide.

"Give it back." Cole again asked, advancing on Billy.

Billy pulled his balance back, and stood to his whole height, trying not to feel intimidated by the anger he could feel from Cole.

"You want it back? Catch it then!" And with that, he whipped his arm back, and with all the strength he could muster, threw the clay ball at Cole.

Cole winced, as did the other children in the room, and involuntarily ducked. He hadn't been ready for a throw. And honestly, he knew he wouldn't have caught it anyway.

The ball whizzed threw the air, and with a sickening crack, hit the window and splintered the glass, before falling wetly to the floor.

There was a gasp from the entire class, and a horrible silence fell over them. They all knew, instantly, that this was bad.

At first, they'd enjoyed the spectacle of the two boys arguing. A bit of drama. Something to speculate and gossip about later. But now it was serious. This would lead to big trouble for one of them. Both of them. All of them.

A second or two seemed to stretch into minutes, before everyone jumped at the noise of a door flying open.

"Mr Andrews! That's enough!"

Mr Phillips marched into the room, fire in his eyes. He paused a moment, looking at the cracked pane of glass, before crouching to pick up the ball of clay. Then, holding it disdainfully between his fingers, he turned to stare at the horrified children.

"Who does this belong to?"

He didn't shout. He didn't need to. The children were used to his shouting and threats. This simple, quiet question held more terror, because everyone knew where it could lead.

Cole held his ground, biting his lip briefly, and dredged up his courage.

"It's mine Sir."

Mr Phillips said nothing. Holding the clay away from his suit, he advanced towards Cole, staring right at him. Cole involuntarily backed away. Mr Phillips wasn't very much taller. But he was older, stronger and in authority. And he had humiliated and abused Cole before. Cole was scared of him.

Mr Phillips said nothing, merely bending slightly to open the door to the stove and throwing the clay into the flames. Cole wanted to say something. He was angry. But he was too scared.

"Your parents will have to pay for a new window." Mr Phillips said, glaring at Cole.

Cole's heart dropped with a sudden thud, right into the pit of his stomach. He wanted to pinch himself to see if this was all a horrible dream. Yet he knew it wasn't. His parents could barely afford to feed him and his sisters, his clothes were worn and thin. There certainly wasn't any money for school house windows. And yet, when the bill came for the window, Cole knew there would be fury from his parents. He knew sacrifices had been made so that he could attend school, and if school was going to cost his parents yet more money… Well, he'd be making up the debt in lashes from his father's belt. And probably more of them than he could bear.

Cole glanced at Mr Phillips, barely daring to make eye contact.

"My parents can't afford that."

There was a pause, then Mr Phillips seemed to almost shrug.

"Then we'll have to punish you in some other way."

He turned and walked calmly towards his desk at the front of the classroom. Cole and the other children watched, bemused, as Mr Phillips opened a drawer of the desk and removed something from inside.

A switch. Long, and browned with age.

Cole's eyes flew wide open and he had to stop himself from crying out in shock. Although he'd never seen a switch used in the class before, he knew well enough what it was for, and what Mr Phillips intended to do with it.

Mr Phillips came towards him, the switch held out wide for theatrical effect. Cole did his best to hold his ground, his heart pounding in his chest. He wouldn't cry out. He wouldn't.

He stared straight ahead, not trusting himself to look at Mr Phillips, or the switch.

Then there was a sudden flicker of pain as Mr Phillips flicked the side of Cole's hand with the switch.

"Open your hand."

Cole winced with the sudden line of heat across his hand. He could feel his pulse thundering in his ears. He willed himself to faint, fall to the floor, anything to avoid the inevitable. But no, his body was too young and healthy for such nonsense, and he stayed resolutely standing.

Yet, through his fear, there was just enough of him still in there, to attempt some self-preservation. He glanced up at Mr Phillips.

"I didn't do anything wrong."

Mr Phillips raised his eyebrows and glared at Cole.

"You are the most disruptive student in this classroom!"

Cole then experienced something very strange. His fear melted away, just for an instant, giving him enough courage to square up to his teacher.

"That may be your perception. But it is NOT fact. If you want to hate someone, you should look in a mirror!"

Cole's words trailed away as a sickening hush fell over the entire room, as everyone's eyes locked on Mr Phillips face. They could almost see a red haze of anger fall across his features. Cole's breath was rapid and shallow. He knew he had crossed to a point of no return. He knew that he'd just made the inevitable ten times worse.

Mr Phillips broke the silence. His voice quiet and slow.

"Open. Your. Hand."

Cole and Mr Phillips stood, barely a foot apart, waiting to see who would move next.

Cole wanted to scream. He wanted to stare right into Mr Phillips' face and shout at him, "NO." He wanted to be defiant. But he couldn't. He was too scared. And he knew. He knew he was at Mr Phillips mercy.

The seconds stretched out. The whole room seemed to be in suspended animation. Everyone knew something awful was going to happen, and what that was going to be seemed pretty clear.

The tension was broken by Mr Phillips first. His eyes still locked on Cole's, his free hand shot out and grabbed the cuff of Cole's sweater sleeve, pulling his arm up and out to the side. He took a step sideways, and keeping his eyes fixed, expressionless, on Cole's face, he rolled up Cole's cuff just a few inches. Then pulling the button of his shirt cuff apart also, forcing it up his wrist. Leaving his hand and wrist exposed.

While Mr Phillips fiddled with Cole's clothes, the switch, dangling loosely from his fingers, swung between them, bouncing off both their legs as Mr Phillips rearranged the fabric around Cole's wrist.

He took a firm hold on Cole's hand and forcibly uncurled his fingers. He lifted Cole's arm higher, so that Cole's outstretched arm and hand were at about chest height, an arm's length from his body.

Mr Phillips took a better grip on the switch and stepped away from Cole, lifting the switch and resting it, momentarily, against his shoulder.

"You do not move. Keep that hand out."

Cole's breath was coming in rough little pants. He could almost feel his whole body shaking. He willed his outstretched, upturned palm to stay still. He was scared, but he wouldn't break in front of Mr Phillips. He wouldn't. He wouldn't.

The room fell into a dead silence. The nervous shuffling of feet stopped. No more anxious little coughs. The rustling of heavy, starchy fabrics fell quiet. All observing eyes in the room were flicking quickly between Mr Phillips, the switch, and Cole's vulnerable, waiting hand.

Cole himself could not watch. He fixed his gaze somewhere over Mr Phillips' right shoulder, towards the window. "Think about the sculptures." He told himself. Anything to pull his mind away from this nightmarish moment.

In his peripheral vision, he was aware of Mr Phillips side-stepping to line up with his out-stretched arm. He could just see him raising the switch, taking a deep breath, and swinging his arm downwards with a well-practised flick of the wrist.

The physical impact knocked Cole's whole arm down at least a foot, jarring his shoulder. Then the pain hit. A burning-hot line had ignited itself across Cole's now quivering palm.

"Hand up!" A voice commanded. "Straighten your fingers!"

Cole felt as if he was shaking from head to toe. He had had beatings before, from his father, but they were different. A public whipping like this, from a man he hated and feared, in front of his peers, was hard to bear.

With an effort, Cole lifted his arm again, and straightened his fingers as best he could, turning his eyes back towards the window.

He barely had time to steady his breathing, before the air was filled with a high-pitched whistle and a clap, as the switch, for a second time, made contact.

But Cole had felt the pain now. It had lost the element of shock and surprise. Now he just had to ride it out. He would not break before Mr Phillips was finished. He wouldn't cry out.

As the fresh, burning wave of pain soared through his body a second time, he bit his lip and clenched his jaw. He found his eyes involuntarily swooping the room and settling on Anne. She was looking at him with a mixture of shock, pity and compassion.

He held her eye as the third cut fell on his hand. Hunching his shoulders and screwing his eyes closed, he bit back a cry.

The fourth blow fell. His whole body was burning. He wanted to scream. He glanced at Anne, his mouth silently moving, barely able to see her, his lashes thick with tears. She shook her head at him and frowned. Even through his red haze of pain, he read the message. Don't cry. Don't give him the satisfaction.

Breathing raggedly now, Cole was able to open his fingers again, and wait, visibly shaking all over now, for the fifth blow.

It fell quickly, the switch cutting through the air with a horrible whistle.

All the air Cole had in him was driven out of his body as he hissed through his teeth with the pain. Surely it was nearly over?

He blinked slowly at Anne and she nodded briefly at him. He was taking it. He wouldn't let this man win. He was winning.

The pain in his hand, and radiating up his arm, was appalling. His hand felt frozen in place. He couldn't have curled his fingers now, even if he'd wanted to. But he clearly wasn't holding his arm up high enough for Mr Phillips liking.

The switch suddenly changed direction, and smacked sharply into Cole's right thigh.

"Hand! Up!"

Every nerve in Cole's body was screaming at him now, but summoning every last scrap of determination he possessed, he dragged his swollen, burning hand into position.

Clearly sensing that Cole was at the edge of his tolerance, Mr Phillips made it quick. He knew what he was doing and made sure that the final cut intersected the previous five. Like the cross-bar on a gate.

Cole finally screamed. A wailing animal cry. The final blow, falling as it did, across swollen, grazed flesh was too much.

His arm came down and he thrust his hand between his knees. Squeezing, as if he might squeeze the pain away.

Mr Phillips himself took a steadying breath and tucked the switch under his arm. Despite how it may appear to the children, he took no pleasure in beating his students. He was only 27 years old, and it seemed to him sometimes like there was no time at all since he'd last had a beating at school himself. But he knew order must be maintained. "Give them an inch and they'll take a mile". That's what another school master had said to him once.

Without another word, or glance at Cole, he swung on his heel and dropped the switch on the desk.

"Glass dismissed for recess." He said over his shoulder, before disappearing into the store room.

For a long moment, not a single child moved. They all stood, shocked by what they had witnessed, staring at Cole, who was still bent double in the middle of the classroom.

Diana was the first to step forwards towards Cole. She took hold of his elbow gently, and cradled his forearm.

"Let's go outside Cole. We can bathe your hand in the stream."

Cole let Diana lead him. He hugged his hand close to his body as Diana gently held his arm.

For a long moment, no-one noticed the blood droplets on the wooden floor.

"Look!" Ruby hissed, grabbing Anne's arm as they went to walk outside. "Blood!"

Anne's eyes shot to the floor, and sure enough, on the pale, scrubbed wood, droplets of dark red blood could be seen, in a trail, heading towards the door.

Anne ran to the closed store room door and began hammering on it with her fists.

"I hate you! I hate you! He's bleeding! I'll tell all of Avonlea what you did! I HATE YOU!"

The door flew open and Anne stumbled into Mr Phillips, rebounding off him in surprise.

He brushed invisible dirt off, with a look of distain, and stared thoughtfully at Anne.

"You tell them then, Miss Shirley. And see what happens. Now get out."

He shut the door in her face with a bang.