ng the bright library, where sat
Penrod's mother and Sam's father.

It was Sam's mother who had opened the door. "Come into the library,
boys," she said. "Mrs. Schofield is just telling us about it."

And as the two comrades moved dumbly into the lighted room, Penrod's
mother rose, and, taking him by the shoulder, urged him close to the
fire.

"You stand there and try to dry off a little, while I finish telling Mr.
and Mrs. Williams about you and Sam," she said. "You'd better make Sam
keep near the fire, too, Mrs. Williams, because they both got wringing
wet. Think of their running off just when most people would have wanted
to stay! Well, I'll go on with the story, then. Della told me all about
it, and what the cook next door said SHE'D seen, how they'd been trying
to pull grass and leaves for the poor old thing all day--and all about
the apples they carried from YOUR cellar, and getting wet and working
in the rain as hard as they could--and they'd given him a loaf of bread!
Shame on you, Penrod!" She paused to laugh; but there was a little
moisture about her eyes, even before she laughed. "And they'd fed him
on potatoes and lettuce and cabbage and turnips out of OUR cellar! And
I wish you'd see the sawdust bed they made for him! Well, when I'd
telephoned, and the Humane Society man got there, he said it was the
most touching thing he ever knew. It seems he KNEW this horse, and had
been looking for him. He said ninety-nine boys out of a hundred would
have chased the poor old thing away, and he was going to see to it that
this case didn't go unnoticed, because the local branch of the society
gives little silver medals for special acts like this. And the last
thing he said was that he was sure Penrod and Sam each would be awarded
one at the meeting of the society next Thursday night."

... On the following Saturday a yodel sounded from the sunny sidewalk
in front of the Schofields' house, and Penrod, issuing forth, beheld the
familiar figure of Samuel Williams waiting.

Upon Sam's breast there glittered a round bit of silver suspended by a
white ribbon from a bar of the same metal. Upon the breast of Penrod was
a decoration precisely similar.

"'Lo, Penrod," said Sam. "What are you goin' to do?"

"Nothin'"

"I got mine on," said Sam.

"I have, too," said Penrod. "I wouldn't take a hunderd dollars for
mine."

"I wouldn't take two hunderd for mine," said Sam.

Each glanced pleasantly at the other's medal. The