For a moment David stood without movement, his eyes staring. The next
instant he turned and ran. The jeers became a chorus of triumphant
shouts then--but not for long. David had only hurried to the woodpile
to lay down his violin. He came back then, on the run--and before the
tallest boy could catch his breath he was felled by a stinging blow on
the jaw.

Over by the church a small girl, red-haired and red-eyed, clambered
hastily over the fence behind which for long minutes she had been
crying and wringing her hands.

"He'll be killed, he'll be killed," she moaned. "And it's my fault,
'cause it's my kitty--it's my kitty," she sobbed, straining her eyes to
catch a glimpse of the kitten's protector in the squirming mass of legs
and arms.

The kitten, unheeded now by the boys, was pursuing its backward whirl
to destruction some distance away, and very soon the little girl
discovered her. With a bound and a choking cry she reached the kitten,
removed the bag and unbound the cruel string. Then, sitting on the
ground, a safe distance away, she soothed the palpitating little bunch
of gray fur, and watched with fearful eyes the fight.

And what a fight it was! There was no question, of course, as to its
final outcome, with six against one; but meanwhile the one was giving
the six the surprise of their lives in the shape of well-dealt blows
and skillful twists and turns that caused their own strength and weight
to react upon themselves in a most astonishing fashion. The one
unmistakably was getting the worst of it, however, when the little
girl, after a hurried dash to the street, brought back with her to the
rescue a tall, smooth-shaven young man whom she had hailed from afar as
"Jack."

Jack put a stop to things at once. With vigorous jerks and pulls he
unsnarled the writhing mass, boy by boy, each one of whom, upon
catching sight of his face, slunk hurriedly away, as if glad to escape
so lightly. There was left finally upon the ground only David alone.
But when David did at last appear, the little girl burst into tears
anew.

"Oh, Jack, he's killed--I know he's killed," she wailed. "And he was so
nice and--and pretty. And now--look at him! Ain't he a sight?"

David was not killed, but he was--a sight. His blouse was torn, his tie
was gone, and his face and hands were covered with dirt and blood.
Above one eye was an ugly-looking lump, and below the other was a red
bruise. Somewhat dazedly he responded to the man's