think I broke up a game in the next
room. The boys came to the door, one by one, and stood watching, until we
had the full dozen for audience. Before any one realized what was
happening, we were playing together real pretty, with the chilly shoulder
barred and the social ice gone the way of a dew-drop in the sun.

We boxed and wrestled, with much scientific discussion of "full Nelsons"
and the like, and even fenced with sticks. I had them going there, and
could teach them things; and they were the willingest pupils a man ever
had--docile and filled with a deep respect for their teacher who knew all
there was to know--or, if he didn't, he never let on. Before night we had
smashed three window-panes, trimmed several faces down considerably, and
got pretty well acquainted. I found out that they weren't so far behind
the old gang at home for wanting all there is in the way of fun, and I
believe they discovered that I was harmless. Before that storm let up they
were dealing cards to me, and allowing me to get rid of the rest of the
forty dollars Rankin had overlooked. I got some of it back.

I went down and bunked with them, because they had a stove and I didn't,
and it was more sociable; Perry Potter and the cook were welcome to the
house, I told them, except at meal-times. And, more than all the rest, I
could keep out of range of Perry Potter's eyes. I never could get used to
that watch-Willie-grow way he had, or rid myself of the notion that he was
sending dad a daily report of my behavior.

The next thing, when the weather quit sifting snow and turned on the balmy
breezes and the sunshine, I was down in the corrals in my chaps and spurs,
learning things about horses that I never suspected before. When I did
something unusually foolish, the boys were good enough to remember my
boxing and fencing and such little accomplishments, and did not withdraw
their favor; so I went on, butting into every new game that came up, and
taking all bets regardless, and actually began to wise up a little and to
forget a few of my grievances.

I was down in the corral one day, saddling Shylock--so named because he
tried to exact a pound of flesh every time I turned my back or in other
ways seemed off my guard--and when I was looping up the latigo I
discovered that the alliterative Mr. Potter was roosting on the fence,
watching me with those needle-pointed eyes of his. I wondered if he was
about to prepare another report for dad.

"Do yu