any difference. We dried his clothes at a fire we
made, and he's all right."

Sarah, even as she squeezed Hugh's hand, was looking at Brutus out of
the tail of her eye, as though an awful thought had just then burst
upon her.

"An' he hab on his bestest Sunday-go-to-meetin' clothes, too. I done
hopes dey ain't shrunk on him, so he cain't git in 'em agin. Dat clerk
he nebber guarantee dat dey wouldn't creep up if de boy he done falls
in de pond. But how did it happen, I'd like to know."

Hugh thereupon took it upon himself to explain just how Brutus in
trying to "show-off" before his little girl companions had ventured out
too far, and managed to cause his raft to go to pieces. Sarah looked
threatening, so Hugh hastened to "pour oil on troubled waters."

"Brutus has suffered enough for punishment, I should think, Sarah," he
told her. "He's had his lesson, and will never try anything like that
again. You should be thankful it's no worse. Besides, let me tell
you, he's a little hero. He fought like everything to save himself,
and never let out so much as a cry. The girls did all the yelling.
You ought to be proud of his grit."

"That's right, you had, Sarah," added Thad, thinking it his duty to
"put in an oar" so as to save Brutus from the "smacking" he seemed to
be dreading.

This sort of talk mollified the mother. She even looked proudly around
at the clustering neighbors, for by now every denizen of Darktown had
apparently been drawn to the spot, all wild to hear what had happened.
Her look was in the shape of a challenge. It seemed to say: "Dere now,
what do yuh good-for-nothin' coons think of my Brutus, after hearin'
dese white boys say as how he's a real hero? Don't any ob yuh ebber
ag'in ask me why I gives him dat name. Guess I knows my history, an'
didn't I see it in him when he was a little baby? Dar ain't another
hero in dis whole place, dat's right!"

She turned to Hugh again. Brutus took advantage of his opportunity to
creep over to another woman, who also petted him, and who the boys
afterwards learned was his aunt, a washerwoman of the town.

"Dat boy he ain't like de rest of de kids, I wants yuh to know, Marse
Morgan," she was saying, eagerly. "All de boys 'round heah dey spends
dere time aplayin' in de street, or agittin' into trouble. My Brutus
he's different. Jest yuh come wif me an' see how he done play all by
hisself. I'd like yuh to know he ain't a wuthless little rascal, d