awhile longer,"
said he. "What was it you were going to tell me, Johnny?"

"I am going to tell you because I know you aren't too good, if you do
wear curls and little stockings."

"No, I ain't too good," declared Arnold Carruth, proudly; "I
ain't--HONEST, Johnny."

"That's why I'm going to tell you. But if you tell any of the other
boys--or girls--"

"Tell girls!" sniffed Arnold.

"If you tell anybody, I'll lick you."

"Guess I ain't afraid."

"Guess you'd be afraid to go home after you'd been licked."

"Guess my mamma would give it to you."

"Run home and tell mamma you'd been whopped, would you, then?"

Little Arnold, beautiful baby boy, straightened himself with a quick
remembrance that he was born a man. "You know I wouldn't tell, Johnny
Trumbull."

"Guess you wouldn't. Well, here it is--" Johnny spoke in emphatic
whispers, Arnold's curly head close to his mouth: "There are a good many
things in this town have got to be set right," said Johnny.

Little Arnold stared at him. Then fire shone in his lovely blue eyes
under the golden shadow of his curls, a fire which had shone in the
eyes of some ancestors of his, for there was good fighting blood in
the Carruth family, as well as in the Trumbull, although this small
descendant did go about curled and kissed and barelegged.

"How'll we begin?" said Arnold, in a strenuous whisper.

"We've got to begin right away with Jim Simmons's cats and kittens."

"With Jim Simmons's cats and kittens?" repeated Arnold.

"That was what I said, exactly. We've got to begin right there. It is an
awful little beginning, but I can't think of anything else. If you can,
I'm willing to listen."

"I guess I can't," admitted Arnold, helplessly.

"Of course we can't go around taking away money from rich people and
giving it to poor folks. One reason is, most of the poor folks in this
town are lazy, and don't get money because they don't want to work for
it. And when they are not lazy, they drink. If we gave rich people's
money to poor folks like that, we shouldn't do a mite of good. The rich
folks would be poor, and the poor folks wouldn't stay rich; they would
be lazier, and get more drink. I don't see any sense in doing things
like that in this town. There are a few poor folks I have been thinking
we might take some money for and do good, but not many."

"Who?" inquired Arnold Carruth, in awed tones.

"Well, there is poor old Mrs. Sam Little. She's awful poor. Folks hel