o was
roaring for mercy under his knee.

"Why, Dan, I thought you had given up fighting," he said, as he went to
the rescue.

"We ain't fighting, we are only wrestling," answered Dan, leaving off
reluctantly.

"It looks very much like it, and feels like it, hey, Jack?" said Mr.
Bhaer, as the defeated gentleman got upon his legs with difficulty.

"Catch me wrestling with him again. He's most knocked my head off,"
snarled Jack, holding on to that portion of his frame as if it really
was loose upon his shoulders.

"The fact is, we began in fun, but when I got him down I couldn't help
pounding him. Sorry I hurt you, old fellow," explained Dan, looking
rather ashamed of himself.

"I understand. The longing to pitch into somebody was so strong you
couldn't resist. You are a sort of Berserker, Dan, and something to
tussle with is as necessary to you as music is to Nat," said Mr. Bhaer,
who knew all about the conversation between the boy and Mrs. Jo.

"Can't help it. So if you don't want to be pounded you'd better keep out
of the way," answered Dan, with a warning look in his black eyes that
made Jack sheer off in haste.

"If you want something to wrestle with, I will give you a tougher
specimen than Jack," said Mr. Bhaer; and, leading the way to the
wood-yard, he pointed out certain roots of trees that had been grubbed
up in the spring, and had been lying there waiting to be split.

"There, when you feel inclined to maltreat the boys, just come and work
off your energies here, and I'll thank you for it."

"So I will;" and, seizing the axe that lay near Dan hauled out a tough
root, and went at it so vigorously, that the chips flew far and wide,
and Mr. Bhaer fled for his life.

To his great amusement, Dan took him at his word, and was often seen
wrestling with the ungainly knots, hat and jacket off, red face, and
wrathful eyes; for he got into royal rages over some of his adversaries,
and swore at them under his breath till he had conquered them, when he
exulted, and marched off to the shed with an armful of gnarled oak-wood
in triumph. He blistered his hands, tired his back, and dulled the axe,
but it did him good, and he got more comfort out of the ugly roots than
any one dreamed, for with each blow he worked off some of the pent-up
power that would otherwise have been expended in some less harmless way.

"When this is gone I really don't know what I shall do," said Mrs. Jo
to herself, for no inspiration came,