ut Jim stuck on. His legs, it was true, were not long enough to "lap
round," but he was a born horseman. He had practised since he was able
to talk, never losing a chance to bestride a steed; and now he was in
his glory. Round and round went the colt, amid the laughter of the
onlookers. They apprehended no danger, for they knew that the youngster
could ride like a jackanapes; in any case the yard was soft with litter,
and no harm could happen to the boy.

The colt, nearly ridden down, had reached the limit of its young
strength, and had just about surrendered. Jim was waving one hand in
triumph, while the other clutched the fuzzy mane before him, when a new
and striking element was added to the scene. A rustle of petticoats, a
white cap over yellow hair, a clear, commanding voice that sent the men
all back abashed, and the Widdy Hartigan burst through the little
circle.

"What do ye mean letting me bhoy do that fool thing to risk his life and
limb? Have ye no sense, the lot of ye? Jimmy, ye brat, do ye want to
break yer mother's heart? Come off of that colt this holy minute; or
I'll--"

Up till now, Jim had been absolute dominator of the scene; but the
powerful personality of his mother shattered his control, dethroned him.

As she swept angrily toward him, his nerve for the time was shaken. The
colt gave a last wild plunge; Jim lost his balance and his hold, and
went down on the soft litter.

As it sprang free from its tormenter, the frightened beast gave vent to
its best instinctive measure of defense and launched out a final kick.
The youngster gave a howl of pain, and in a minute more he was sobbing
in his mother's arms, while one of the crowd was speeding for the
doctor.

Yes, the arm was broken above the elbow, a simple fracture, a matter of
a month to mend. The bone was quickly set, and when his wailing had in a
measure subsided, Jim showed his horseman soul by jerking out: "I could
have rode him, Mother. I'll ride him yet. I'll tame him to a finish, the
little divil."

CHAPTER II

The Strains That Were Mingled in Jim

Clearly one cannot begin the history of the French Revolution with the
outbreak of 1789. Most phenomena, physical and spiritual, have their
roots, their seeds, their causes--whatever you will--far behind them in
point of time. To understand them one must go back to the beginning or
they will present no logic or _raison d'etre_. The phenomenon of James
Hartigan, the Preacher of C