in favor of Mr. Jim Irwin."

"Well, dad's prejudiced against him,--er, no, he hain't either. He likes
Jim. He's just prejudiced against giving up his old notions. No, he hain't
neither--I guess he's only prejudiced against seeming to give up some old
notions he seemed to have once! And the kids in school would be prejudiced
right, anyhow!"

"Paw says he'll be on hand prompt," said Raymond. "But he had to be
p'swaded right much. Paw's proud--and he cain't read."

"Sometimes I think the more people read the less sense they've got," said
Newton. "I wish I could tie dad up! I wish I could get snakebit, and make
him go for the doctor!"

The boys crossed the ridge to the wooded valley in which nestled the Simms
cabin. They found Mrs. Simms greatly exercised in her mind because young
McGeehee had been found playing with some blue vitriol used by Raymond in
his school work on the treatment of seed potatoes for scab.

"His hands was all blue with it," said she. "Do you reckon, Mr. Newton,
that it'll pizen him?"

"Did he swallow any of it?" asked Newton.

"Nah!" said McGeehee scornfully.

Newton reassured Mrs. Simms, and went away pensive. He was in rebellion
against the strange ways grown men have of discharging their duties as
citizens--a rather remarkable thing, and perhaps a proof that Jim Irwin's
methods had already accomplished much in preparing Newton and Raymond for
citizenship. He had shown them the fact that voting really has some
relation to life. At present, however, the new wine in the old bottles was
causing Newton to forget his filial duty, and his respect for his father.
He wished he could lock him up in the barn so he couldn't go to the school
election. He wished he could become ill--or poisoned with blue vitriol or
something--so his father would be obliged to go for a doctor. He
wished----well, why couldn't he get sick. Mrs. Simms had been about to
send for the doctor for Buddy when he had explained away the apparent
necessity. People got dreadfully scared about poison---- Newton mended his
pace, and looked happier. He looked very much as he had done on the day he
adjusted the needle-pointed muzzle to his dog's nose. He looked, in fact,
more like a person filled with deviltry, than one yearning for the right
to vote.

"I'll fix him!" said he to himself.

"What time's the election, Ez?" asked Mrs. Bronson at breakfast.

"I'm goin' at four o'clock," said Ezra. "And I don't want to hear any more
from a