chair on that broad doorstep in front of his house, and
leans on a big, thick stick he always carries."

"Who cooks for him?"

"Oh, he cooks for himself, when he has anything to cook. He has a little
garden, but it doesn't amount to much. He has no apple trees except an
old one that is nearly dead and never has but a few little, measly,
knerly apples on it; that's why I thought he'd like these."

Their walk was carrying them nearer and nearer the old man's door.
"There he is now," whispered Esther Ann. "I'll go first and you come
right up behind me. Here, take your apple." She thrust the fruit into
Edna's hand and hastened her own pace a little. Edna's heart began to
beat fast, for surely Nathan Keener was anything but an attractive
figure as he sat there glowering and muttering, his gaunt hands resting
on his knotted stick, and his grizzly old face wearing a wrathful look.

True to her guns, Esther Arm dashed forward and held out her apple
saying in a shrill, excited voice, "Won't you have----"

But she got no further, for with a snarl the old man reached out one
long, bony arm and grabbed her by the shoulder, raising his stick
threateningly, "I'll larn ye, ye little varmint," he began.

Esther screamed. Edna, paralyzed with fright, looked on with affrighted
eyes, but presently found voice to quaver out, "Please don't hurt her!
Oh, please don't!"

The other girls a little distance off stood huddled together like a
flock of sheep. No one was brave enough to venture within reach of that
terrible stick, but just then along came a crowd of boys from school.
The foremost took in the situation in a glance, and in another instant
was on the platform by Esther's side.

"Here, you old mut, what are you doing to my sister?" he cried, at the
same time trying to wrest the stick from the old man's grasp.

But Nathan had too long wielded the stick with effect to lose it so
readily. Loosing his hold upon Esther, he swiftly shifted his weapon to
his other hand and brought down a blow on the boy's back.

By this time the other boys had come up; there were cries, threats,
screams from the girls, shouts from the boys. All was in a dreadful
hub-bub when along the road approached a young man who stood for a
moment and then dashed to the scene of battle. "Here, boys, here," he
cried, "what are you doing to that old man?"

"He was going to beat my sister," spoke up the one who had first hurried
to the front.

"You old scalawag