I wish I could whip myself hard enough and save him doing it . '' After supper , at which Carl had eaten little and Mr. Meredith nothing at all , both went silently into the study . The switch lay on the table . Mr. Meredith had had a bad time getting a switch to suit him . He cut one , then felt it was too slender . Carl had done a really indefensible thing . Then he cut another -- it was far too thick . After all , Carl had thought the eel was dead . The third one suited him better ; but as he picked it up from the table it seemed very thick and heavy -- more like a stick than a switch . `` Hold out your hand , '' he said to Carl . Carl threw back his head and held out his hand unflinchingly . But he was not very old and he could not quite keep a little fear out of his eyes . Mr. Meredith looked down into those eyes -- why , they were Cecilia 's eyes -- her very eyes -- and in them was the selfsame expression he had once seen in Cecilia 's eyes when she had come to him to tell him something she had been a little afraid to tell him . Here were her eyes in Carl 's little , white face -- and six weeks ago he had thought , through one endless , terrible night , that his little lad was dying . John Meredith threw down the switch . `` Go , '' he said , `` I can not whip you . '' Carl fled to the graveyard , feeling that the look on his father 's face was worse than any whipping . `` Is it over so soon ? '' asked Faith . She and Una had been holding hands and setting teeth on the Pollock tombstone .
`` He -- he did n't whip me at all , '' said Carl with a sob , `` and -- I wish he had -- and he 's XXXXX there , feeling just awful . ''
After ago as from in into on than that through