instant the bully was floundering in the soft mud of a ditch; Bobby's
reply was more than Tom had bargained for, and while he was dragging
himself out of the ditch, our hero ran down to the river, and got his
fish pole and basket.

"You'll catch it for that!" growled Tom.

"I'm all ready, whenever it suits your convenience," replied Bobby.

"Just come out here and take it in fair fight," continued Tom, who
could not help bullying, even in the midst of his misfortune.

"No, I thank you; I don't want to fight with any fellow. I will not
fight if I can help it."

"What did you hit me for, then?"

"In self-defence."

"Just come out here, and try it fair!"

"No;" and Bobby hurried home, leaving the bully astonished and
discomfited by the winding up of the morning's sport.

CHAPTER III

IN WHICH THE LITTLE BLACK HOUSE IS BOUGHT BUT NOT PAID FOR

Probably my young readers have by this time come to the conclusion
that Bobby Bright was a very clever fellow--one whose acquaintance
they would be happy to cultivate. Perhaps by this time they have
become so far interested in him as to desire to know who his parents
were, what they did, and in what kind of a house he lived.

I hope none of my young friends will think any less of him when I
inform them that Bobby lived in an old black house which had never
been painted, which had no flower garden in front of it, and which, in
a word, was quite far from being a palace. A great many very nice city
folks would not have considered it fit to live in, would have turned
up their noses at it, and wondered that any human beings could be so
degraded as to live in such a miserable house. But the widow Bright,
Bobby's mother, thought it was a very comfortable house, and
considered herself very fortunate in being able to get so good a
dwelling. She had never lived in a fine house, knew nothing about
velvet carpets, mirrors seven feet high, damask chairs and lounges, or
any of the smart things which very rich and very proud city people
consider absolutely necessary for their comfort. Her father had been a
poor man, her husband had died a poor man, and her own life had been a
struggle to keep the demons of poverty and want from invading her
humble abode.

Mr. Bright, her deceased husband, had been a day laborer in
Riverdale. He never got more than a dollar a day, which was then
considered very good wages in the country. He was a very honest,
industrious man, and while he liv