astorate of the First Church in Rock River. Many of the people
in his first congregation remarked upon "the handsome lad." The clear
brown of his face, his big yellow-brown eyes, his slender hands, and the
grace of his movements gave him distinction quite aside from that
arising from his connection with the minister.

Rev. John Excell was a personable man himself. He was tall and broad
shouldered, with abundant brown hair and beard, and a winning smile. His
eyes were dark and introspective, but they could glow like sunlit topaz,
or grow dim with tears, as his congregation had opportunity to observe
during this first sermon--but they were essentially sad eyes.

Mrs. Excell, a colorless little woman who retained only the dim outline
of her girlhood's beauty, sat gracelessly in her pew, but her
stepdaughter, Maud, by her side, was carrying to early maturity a dainty
grace united with something strong and fine drawn from her father. She
had his proud lift of the head.

"What a fine family!" whispered the women from pew to pew under cover of
the creaking fans.

In the midst of the first sermon, a boy seated in front of Harold gave a
shrill whoop of agony and glared back at the minister's son with
distorted face, and only the prompt action on the part of both mothers
prevented a clamorous encounter over the pew. Harold had stuck the head
of a pin in the toe of his boot and jabbed his neighbor in the calf of
the leg. It was an old trick, but it served well.

The minister did not interrupt his reading, but a deep flush of hot
blood arose to his face, and the lids of his eyes dropped to shut out
the searching gaze of his parishioners, as well as to close in a red
glare of anger. From that moment Harold was known as "that preacher's
boy," the intention being to convey by significant inflections and a
meaning smile that he filled the usual description of a minister's
graceless son.

Harold soon became renowned in his own world. He had no hard-fought
battles, though he had scores of quarrels, for he scared his opponents
by the suddenness and the intensity of his rage, which was fairly
demoniacal in fury.

"You touch me and I'll _kill you_," he said in a low voice to the fat
boy whose leg he had jabbed, and his bloodless face and blazing eyes
caused the boy to leap frenziedly away. He carried a big knife, his
playmates discovered, and no one, not even youths grown to man's
stature, cared to attempt violence with him. One lad