ight!" he promised savagely.

"Tommie! Tommie!"--it was a joyous cry. The bright flowers had caught
Grandpa's eye. "Oh! Oh, Tommie!" Now the chair started in Barber's
direction. "Oh, Mother! Oh, go fetch Mother!" He let Letitia drop as he
turned at the wheels.

The roses were half way out of the window; Barber drew them back, as if
his father's delight in the bouquet had made him change his mind. But he
did not give them to Grandpa. Instead, he hid the flowers behind him.
"Git the old man some milk," he told Johnnie; and to Cis, "You put on
your hat and take these out, and don't you come back with less'n a
dollar."

"A--a dollar?" She began to weep. Though she did not yet understand what
he meant her to do.

"Yes, a dollar." Barber stayed beside the window, the roses still at his
back. "You heard me! Sell 'em."

She turned toward her room. "Sell my birthday present!" she sobbed. "The
first bouquet I've ever had! The first!" But instinctively her hands
went up to smooth her hair.

That told Johnnie that she was getting ready to put on her hat and obey
a wicked command. He fumbled with the milk bottle and a cup, spilling a
little of the drink. "All right, Grandpa," he soothed. But his tone was
not indicative of his real feelings. Other words were boiling up in him
that he did not speak: "_I_ wouldn't sell 'em, y' betcher life! He could
go out and sell 'em himself! And I'd tell him so, y' betcher life! And
he could lick me if he wanted t'! He could pound me till I died! But I
wouldn't mind him!"

Something came driving up into his throat, his eyes, his pale, strained
face. It was the blood of hate. It choked and blinded him, sang in his
ears, swelled his thin neck, reddened his unfreckled cheeks. Oh, this
was more than he could bear, even if he was to be a scout some day! The
laws, the good resolutions, the lessons taught by Mr. Perkins, they were
not helping him now when this fearful thing was being done. He began a
terrible think--of Big Tom down on the floor, helpless, bleeding,
begging for mercy, while Johnnie struck his cruel tormentor again and
again--trampled him--laughed--shouted----!

Cis came from the tiny blue room. Her head was lowered. The tears were
making wet tracks between eyes and pitifully trembling mouth. She walked
as far as the table, which checked her, and she halted against it
blindly.

"There you are," said Big Tom. He tossed the roses upon his coat. "Go
on, now! Hurry! Don't wait round