"I mean to. Now, we will settle about this little affair. Where is
Bill?"

"Out in the field, digging potatoes," said Andrew glibly.

"Go and call him."

"All right, sir."

And the boy prepared to obey the command with uncommon alacrity.

Poor Bill, nervous and unhappy, had been hard at work in the potato
field through the long forenoon, meditating bitterly on his sad
position. So far as he knew, there was no one that loved him, no one
that cared for him. He was a friendless boy. From Mr. and Mrs. Badger
and Andrew he never received a kind nor encouraging word, but, instead,
taunts and reproaches, and the heart of the poor boy, hungering for
kindness, found none.

"Will it always be so?" he asked himself. "If Andrew would only be kind
to me I would do anything for him, but he seems to hate me, and so does
Mrs. Badger. Mr. Badger isn't quite so bad, but he only cares for the
work I do."

The poor boy sighed heavily as he leaned for a moment upon his hoe. "He
was roused by a sharp voice.

"Shirking your work, are you?" said Andrew. "I've caught you this time.
What'll my father say to that?"

"I have been working hard, Andrew," said Bill. "I can show you what I
have done this forenoon."

"That's too thin. You're lazy, and that's all about it. Well, my
father's got home, and now you're going to catch it. Maybe you'll knock
him down with a hoe," said Andrew tauntingly.

"I'm sorry I hit you, Andrew, as I told you; but you shouldn't have
struck me with a whip."

"I had a perfect right to do it. I'm your master."

"No, you're not!" returned Bill with spirit.

"We'll see whether I am or not. Come right up to the house."

"Who says so?"

"My father told me to call you."

"Very well, I will come," and the bound boy shouldered his hoe and
followed Andrew wearily to the farmhouse yard, where Mr. and Mrs. Badger
were standing.

One look at the stern faces of the pair satisfied Bill that trouble
awaited him. He knew very well that he could not hope for justice and
that one word from Andrew in the mind of his parents would outweigh all
he could say.

"Here comes the young ruffian!" said Mrs. Badger as soon as he came
within hearing distance. "Here comes the wicked boy who tried to kill my
poor Andrew."

"That is not true, Mrs. Badger," said Bill earnestly. "I was only
defending myself."

"You hear, Mr. Badger. He as much as tells me I lie! Do you hear that?"
demanded the incensed woman.

"Bill Benton,