ake them sit still on the piece of wood."

"And when they had struck the wood, and driven it into the air, what did
they do to the poor thing then?"

"Sent it up again."

"And then?"

"Oh, they caught it--some of the boys did--caught it like a ball."

"Have you ever done so?"

Dexter shuffled about from foot to foot, and looked at the prospect,
then at the frog, and then slowly up at the clear, searching eyes
watching him.

"Yes," he said, with a sigh; "lots of times."

"And was it to save the poor thing from being hurt by the fall on the
hard ground!"

Dexter tried hard to tell a lie, but somehow he could not.

"No," he said slowly. "It was to put it back on the stick, so as the
other boys could not catch it first."

"What was done then!"

Dexter was silent, and he seemed to be taking a wonderful deal of
interest in the frog, which was panting hard in his hot hand, with only
its comical face peeping out between his finger and thumb, the bright
golden irised eyes seeming to stare into his, and the loose skin of its
throat quivering.

"Well, Dexter, why don't you tell me!"

"Am I to?" said the boy slowly.

"Of course."

There were a few more moments of hesitation, and then the boy said with
an effort--

"They used--"

He paused again.

"We used to get lots of stones and shy at 'em till they was dead."

There was a long silence here, during which Helen Grayson watched the
play in the boy's countenance, and told herself that there was a
struggle going on between the good and evil in the young nature, and
once more she asked herself how she could hesitate in the task before
her.

Meanwhile it was very uncomfortable for the frog. The day was hot;
Dexter's hand was hotter still; and though there was the deliciously
cool gurgling river close at hand, with plenty of sedge, and the roots
of water grasses, where it might hide and enjoy its brief span of life,
it was a prisoner; and if frogs can think and know anything about the
chronicles of their race, it was thinking of its approaching fate, and
wondering how many of its young tadpoles would survive to be as big as
its parent, and whether it was worth while after all.

"Dexter," said Helen suddenly, and her voice sounded so clear and
thrilling that the boy started, and looked at her in a shame-faced
manner. "Suppose you saw a boy--say like--like--"

"That chap we saw with the hat and stick? him who sneered at me?"

Helen winced in turn. She