uld not be saying anything to me. But," he
added, brightening, "I would be having a fight!"

"Horo!" the three young men laughed delightedly. "That will be a fine
start, jist keep it up!" cried the youth on the front seat.

"Hoots, whist ye, Callum!" cried the elder man, reprovingly, while his
dancing eyes contradicted his tongue. "What will his Granny be sayin'
to such goin's on, an' the first day at school, too!"

"And who would you be fightin', Scotty?" asked Uncle Rory, leaning
eagerly forward.

"Danny Murphy!" he announced truculently, "an' I would be lickin' him
good, too!"

There was a chorus of joyous approval.

"Good for you!" shouted Callum; "jist you pitch into any o' yon Irish
crew every time you get a chance!"

"Be quate, will ye, Callum!" cried his father more sternly. "The lad
will be jist like yerself, too ready with his fists, whatever. A brave
man will never be a boaster, Scotty, man."

The would-be hero's head drooped; he looked slightly abashed.

"What would Danny be doin' to you?" inquired Callum.

At the question, the proud little head came up swiftly.

"He said--he said!" cried its owner, stammering in his wrath, "he said
I would be an Englishman!"

Small comfort he received, for the report of this deadly insult
produced yells of laughter.

"Yon was a black-hearted Irish trick, an' jist like one o' Pat Murphy's
tribe, whatever," said Callum, with a sudden affectation of solemnity
that somewhat appeased the child's rising indignation.

"An' you would be pitchin' into him good for his lies, wouldn't you?"
inquired Rory, encouragingly.

The boy looked up shyly at his grandfather. "A wee bit," he admitted
modestly.

The father glanced significantly at his eldest son. "School will be
the place to learn many things," he said in a low tone. The young man
laughed easily. "He's bound to be finding it out some time, anyway,"
he answered, but not so low that the boy's quick ears could not catch
the words. He looked up intently into the faces of the two men, a
startled expression in his big eyes. Then he suddenly scrambled out
from between them, and went behind to where Hamish, his youngest uncle,
sat. He felt vaguely that he was approaching some strange, unforeseen
trouble, and Hamish was always sympathetic.

The sleigh had been moving swiftly through long, narrow forest aisles,
and now it suddenly turned into view of a small farm, a "clearing,"
plentifully besprinkled with