il. Jerome cultivated a habit of backing out of the
room, as from an audience with a queen. The sting from his wounded
pride having been salved with victory, he was unduly important in his
own estimation, until an unforeseen result came from the affair.

There are many surprising complications from war, even war between
two school-boys. One night, after school, Jerome went to Cyrus
Robinson's for a lot of shoes which had been promised him two days
before, and was told there were none to spare. Cyrus Robinson leaned
over the counter and glanced around cautiously. It was not a busy
time of day. Two old farmers were standing by the stove, talking to
each other in a drone of extreme dialect, almost as unintelligible,
except to one who understood its subject-matter, as the notes of
their own cattle. The clerk, Samson Loud, was at the other end of the
store, cleaning a molasses-barrel from its accumulated sugar.
"Look-a-here," said Cyrus Robinson, beckoning Jerome with a hard
crook of a seamed forefinger. The boy stood close to the counter, and
uplifted to him his small, undaunted, yet piteously wistful face.

"Look-a-here," said Cyrus Robinson, in a whisper of furtive malice,
leaning nearer, the point of his shelving beard almost touching
Jerome's forehead; "I've got something to say to you. I 'ain't got
any shoes to spare to-night; an', what's more, I ain't going to have
any to spare in future. Boys that fight 'ain't got time enough to
close shoes."

Jerome looked at him a moment, as if scarcely comprehending; then a
sudden quiver as of light came over him, and Cyrus Robinson shrank
back before his eyes as if his counter were a bulwark.

"I s'pose if your big boy had licked me 'cause he made fun of my
father's coat, instead of me lickin' him, you'd have given me some
more shoes!" cried the boy, with the dauntlessness of utter scorn,
and turned and walked out of the store.

"You'd better take care, young man!" called Cyrus Robinson, in open
rage, for the boy's clear note of wrath had been heard over the whole
store. The two old farmers looked up in dull astonishment as the door
slammed after Jerome, stared questioningly at the storekeeper and
each other, then the thick stream of their ideas returned to its
course of their own affairs, and their husky gabble recommenced.

Samson Laud raised his head, covered with close curls of light red
hair, and his rasped red face out of the molasses-barrel, gave one
quick glance fu