e, not always worthy of the traditions
of Solomon, had in it an element of force. To be lifted off the ground
by strong arms at the moment you are about to dust the home plate with
your adversary is humiliating, but effective. It gradually became
apparent that a decision was a decision. And one Saturday this
inexplicable person carried in his hand a mysterious package which, when
opened, revealed two pairs of diminutive boxing gloves. They instantly
became popular.

By the time they had made the accidental and somewhat astounding
discovery that he was a parson, they were willing to overlook it; in
view, perhaps, of his compensating accomplishments. Instead of advising
them to turn the other cheek, he taught them uppercuts, feints, and jabs,
and on the proof of this unexpected acquaintance with a profession all of
them openly admired, the last vestige of reserve disappeared. He was
accepted without qualifications.

II

Although the field to which they resorted was not in the most frequented
section of the park, pedestrians often passed that way, and sometimes
lingered. Thus, towards the close of a certain Saturday in July, a young
woman walked out of the wood path and stood awhile gazing intently at the
active figure striding among the diminutive, darting forms. Presently,
with an amused expression, she turned her head to discover Mr. Bentley,
who sat on a green bench under a tree, his hat and stick on the grass
beside him. She was unaware that he had been looking at her.

"Aren't they having a good time!" she said, and the genuine thrill in her
voice betrayed a rare and unmistakable pleasure.

"Ah," replied Mr. Bentley, smiling back at her, "you like to see them,
too. Most persons do. Children are not meant for the city, my dear
young lady, their natural home is in the woods and fields, and these
little fellows are a proof of it. When they come out here, they run
wild. You perceive," he added with a twinkle, as an expletive of
unquestionable vigour was hurled across the diamond, "they are not
always so polite as they might be."

The young woman smiled again, but the look she gave him was a puzzled
one. And then, quite naturally, she sank, down on the grass, on the
other side of Mr. Bentley's hat, watching the game for a while in
silence.

"What a tyrant!" she exclaimed. Another uproar had been quelled,
and two vigorously protesting runners sent back to their former bases.

"Oh, a benevolent tyrant," Mr. Be