ever do to be called
back now for a momentary indiscretion. From the school yard he slipped
the back way and dived into a bank of great ferns. In the heart of this
he lay until the bell had called his classmates back to work. Cautiously
he crept from his hiding place and ran down to the river.

Flinging himself on Big Rock, with his chin over the edge, he looked
into the deep holes under the bank where the trout lay close to the
strings of shiny moss, their noses to the current, motionless save for
the fanning tails.

Idly he enjoyed himself for a happy hour, letting thoughts happen as
they would. Not till the school bell rang for dismissal did he drag
himself back with a sigh to the workaday world that called. He had a
lawn to mow and a back yard to clean up for Mr. Rawson.

With his cap stuck on the back of his head and his hands in the pockets
of his patched trousers, the boy went whistling townward on his barefoot
way. At Adams Street he met the schoolchildren bound for home. A dozen
boys from his own room closed in on him with shouts of joyous malice.

"Played hookey! Played hookey! Jeff Farnum played hookey!" they shrilled
at him.

Ned Merrill assumed leadership of the young Apaches. "You're goin' to
catch it. Old Webber was down askin' for you. Wasn't he, Tom? Wasn't he,
Dick?"

Tom and Dick lied cheerfully to increase Jeff's dread. They added
graphic details to help the story.

The victim looked around with stoicism. He remembered the philosophy of
the optimist that a licking does not last long.

"Don't care if he was down," the boy bluffed.

"Huh! Mr. Don't Care! Mr. Don't Care!" shrieked Merrill gleefully.

They made a circle around Jeff and mocked him. Once or twice a bolder
tormentor snatched at his cap or pushed a neighbor against him. Then,
with the inconstancy of youth, they suddenly deserted him for more
diverting game.

A forlorn little Italian girl was trying to slip past on the other side
of the street. Someone caught sight of her and with a whoop the Apaches
were upon her pell-mell. She began to run, but they hemmed her in. One
tugged at her braided hair. Another flipped mud at her dress from the
end of a stick. Merrill snatched her slate and made off with it.

Jeff cut swiftly across the street. Merrill was coming directly toward
him, his head turned to the girl. Triumphant whoops broke from his
throat. He bumped into Jeff, stumbled, and went down in the mud.

Young Merrill was up in