short value based stories
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Mr. Oliver, an Anglo-Indian teacher, was returning to his school late one night, on the outskirts of the hill-station of Simla. From before Kipling's time, the school had been run on English public school lines; and the boys, most of them from wealthy Indian families, worn blazers, caps and ties. Life magazine, in a feature on India, had once called it the 'Eton of the East. Mr Oliver had been teaching in the school for several years. The Simla Bazaar, with its cinemas and restaurants, was about three miles from the school; and Mr Oliver, a bachelor, usually strolled into the town in the evening, returning after dark, when he would take a short cut through the pine forest. When there was a strong wind, the pine trees made sad, eerie sounds that kept most people to the main road. But Mr Oliver was not a nervous or imaginative man. He carried a torch, and its gleam-the batteries were running down- moved fitfully down the narrow forest path. When its flickering light fell in the figure of a boy, who was sitting alone on a rock, Mr Oliver stopped. Boys were not supposed to be out after dark. What are you doing out here, boy? "Asked Mr Oliver sharply, moving closer so that he could recognize the miscreant. But even as he approached the boy, Mr Oliver sensed that something was wrong. The boy appeared to be crying. His head hung down, he held his face in his hands, and his body shook convulsively. It was a strange, soundless weeping, and Mr Oliver felt distinctly uneasy.
Well what's the matter? he asked, his anger giving way concern. What are you crying for? The boy would not Swer or lok up. His body continued to be racked with sent sobbing. Come on, boy, you shouldn't be out here at s hour. Tell me the trouble. Look up Y The boy looked up. He took his hands from his face and looked up at his teacher. sht from Mr Oliver's torch fell on the boy's face-if vou could call it a face. It had no eves, ears, nose or mouth. It was just a round ooth head-with a school cap on top of it! And thať's where the story should end. But for Mr Oliver it did not end the torch fell from his trembling hand. He tumed and scrambled down the path, running blindly through the trees and calling for help. He was still running towards the school buildings when he saw a lantem swinging in the middle of the path. Mr Oliver stumbled up to the watchman, gasping for breath. What is it Sahib? "Asked the watchman. Has there been an accident? Why are you running 1 saw samething-something horrible-a boy weeping in the forest-and he had no face! No face Sahib? No eves, nose, mouth -nothing Đo you mean it was like this, Sahib 7 asked the watchman, and raised the lamp to his own face. The watchman had no eyes, no ears, no teatures at all-not even an eyebrow! And that's when the wind blew the lamp out
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