like
something that Johnnie was really seeing: it was like one of those
thinks of his--a terrible one. Bewildered, fascinated, paralyzed, he
watched, and the matches dropped, scattering, from his hands.

The contest was pitifully unequal. All at once the girl's strength gave
out. Her knees bent under her. She swayed toward Big Tom, and would have
fallen if he had not held her up--by that hand over her mouth as well as
by the grasp he had kept on her elbow. Now those huge, tonglike arms of
his caught her clear of the floor and half threw, half dropped, her upon
the kitchen chair.

"You set there!" commanded Barber.

Too spent for speech, but still determined not to obey him, Cis tried to
leave the chair, and drew herself partly up by grasping the table. But
she could not stand, and sank back. At one corner of her mouth showed a
trickle of blood, like a scarlet thread.

The sight of it brought Johnnie to her in an agony of concern. "Oh,
Cis!" he implored.

With one flail-like swing of a great arm, Barber swept the boy aside.
"Stay where y' are!" he said to Cis (he did not even look at Johnnie).
Then he crossed to the hall door, which was shut, and deliberately
bolted it. The clash between him and Cis had been so quiet that Grandpa
had not even been wakened. Now Barber went to the wheel chair, and
gently, slowly, began to trundle it toward the bedroom. "Time t' go t'
s'eep, Pa," he said coaxingly. "Yes, time for old man t' go
s'eepy-s'eepy." When the chair was across the sill, he closed the door
upon it.

Meanwhile, Johnnie had again moved nearer to Cis. Now was his chance to
get away in his uniform and change into his old clothes; to gather up
his old, big shirt and trousers from where they lay on the morris
chair, unbolt the door, and make for that flight of stairs leading up to
the roof. But--he did not even think of going, of leaving her when she
needed him so. He wanted to help her, to comfort. "Oh, Cis!" he
whispered again.

She seemed not to hear him, and she did not turn her burning eyes his
way. Breathing hard, and sobbing with anger under her breath, she stared
at Barber. Her lip was swelling. Her face was crimson from her fight.
Drops of perspiration glistened on her forehead.

Barber's underlip was thrust out as he came back to her. "Y' ain't got
the decency t' be quiet!" he charged, "in front o' that poor old man!"

Now she had breath to answer. She straightened in her chair, and met him
with a bo