ng him a good
pommeling.

"Say you got 'nough?" he growled from ibis position astride of the other
boy.

"I got 'nough, Billy," repeated Jimmy.

"Say you sorry you done it."

"I say I sorry I done it," abjectly repeated the younger child. "Get up,
Billy, 'fore you bust my stommick open."

"Say you ain't never a-goin' to tell nobody, cross yo' heart," was the
next command.

"I say I ain't never going to tell nobody, cross my heart. Get up,
Billy, 'fore you make me mad, and ain't no telling what I'll do to you
if I get mad."

"Say you's a low-down Jezebel skunk."

"I ain't going to say I'm nothing of the kind," spiritedly replied the
under-dog. "You all time wanting somebody to call theirselfs someping.
You're a low-down Isabella skunk yourself."

"You got to say it," insisted the victor, renewing hostilities.

"I'll say I'm a Isabella 'cause Isabella discovered America and's in the
Bible," replied the tormented one; "Miss Cecilia 'splained it to me."

Billy accepted his compromise and Jimmy's flattened stomach, relieved of
its burden, puffed out to its usual roundness as that little boy rose to
his feet, saying:

"Sam Lamb would 'a' died a-laughing, Billy, if he 'd seen you
telephoning."

"He 'd better never hear tell of it," was the threatening rejoinder.

CHAPTER XVI

THE HUMBLE PETITION

Billy, sitting in an old buggy in front of the livery stable, had just
engaged in a long and interesting conversation with Sam Lamb.

He was getting out of the vehicle when the sharp wire around a broken
rod caught in the back of his trousers and tore a great hole. He felt
a tingling pain and looked over his shoulder to investigate. Not being
satisfied with the result, he turned his back to the negro and anxiously
enquired, "Is my breeches tore, Sam?"

"Dey am dat," was the reply, "dey am busted Fm Dan ter Beersheba."

"What I goin' to do 'bout it?" asked the little boy, "Aunt Minerva sho'
will be mad. These here's branspankin' new trousers what I ain't never
wore tell today. Ain't you got a needle an' thread so's you can fix 'em.
Sam?"

"Nary er needle," said Sam Lamb.

"Is my union suit tore, too?" and Billy again turned his back for
inspection.

His friend made a close examination.

"Yo' unions is injured plum scanerous," was his discouraging decision,
"and hit 'pears ter me dat yo' hide done suffer too; you's got er
turrible scratch."

The child sighed. The injury to