ing about?" queried Jack.

"I guess I do."

"And I guess you don't. Supposing you hold your horses a minute?"

"It is a mean thing, any how, to meddle with another fellow's trap."

"It is your trap, is it?"

"Yes, it is."

"Well, who's a meddling?"

"You."

"I ain't."

"You are."

"I say I ain't; and who knows best, I should like to know?"

You may know that Bertie was angry, or he would not have stooped to
bandy words with such a boy. Besides he would have been afraid, for Jack
was a big boy. He was larger, stronger, and a great deal older than
Bertie, and he was much better qualified for fighting in every way. He
had had a deal of practice. But when a boy is angry, he does not stop to
consider consequences. It was fortunate for Bertie that Jack did not
feel disposed to quarrel with him. He could have shaken him as easily as
a dog shakes a squirrel, and resistance would have been of no avail. For
once, Jack was doing nothing to be ashamed of, and he knew he was right.
That helps a boy a great deal. When he knows he is right, he does not
feel half so much like striking back. Perhaps you think he did strike
back when he replied to Bertie's uncivil words; but you must remember
that Jack was a desperate fellow, and if he had not been well disposed
he would hardly have taken the trouble to strike with his tongue. And
language that would sound very rough from the lips of a better bred boy,
was not so bad, after all, coming from Jack Midnight. He was secretly
very much ashamed of his conduct towards the rooster, particularly as
Charley and Bertie had never taken any notice of it. They had simply
allowed him to go his own way, taking care, however, that his track
never crossed theirs. When they could avoid it, they did not speak to
him; when they could not, they were civil in speech--never rude. This
annoyed and humbled Jack. To have enemies that were not enemies, was a
new experience. He looked upon all as against him who were not his
avowed friends. But here were two boys who could not be friends, and,
although he had deeply injured them, he could not call them enemies. He
wanted to do something to show that he was very sorry about the rooster;
something to show that he was not bad, clear through. Bertie's quick
temper flashed, and then went out.

"It looked very much like it, as I came up," he said, in a more gentle
tone.

"Somebody's been a meddling," retorted Jack; "but 'twas not me."

"Who then?"

Ja