"See here, Harry," said Anderson, "what is this about, eh?"

The large boy, who, in spite of his size, was a youngster, looked at
once terrifiedly and pugnaciously into his face, and beginning with a
whimper of excuse to Anderson, ended with a snarl of wrath for the
other boy. "He tells lies, he does. He tells lies. Ya-h!" The boy
danced at the other even under Anderson's restraining hand on his
shoulder. "Yerlie--yerlie! Ya-h!" he yelled, and all the others
joined in. The chorus was deafening. Anderson's hand on the boy's
shoulder tightened. He shook him violently. The boy's cap fell off,
and his shock of fair hair waved. He rolled eyes of terrified wonder
at his captor. "What, wha-at?--" he stammered. "You lemme be. You--
Wha-at?"

"I'll tell you what, you big bully, you," said Anderson, sternly.
"That boy there is one to a dozen, and he's the smallest of the
lot--he's half your size. Now, what in thunder are you all about,
badgering that little chap so?"

A sudden silence prevailed. They all stood looking from under lowered
eyebrows at the group of watching men; their small shoulders under
their little school-jackets were seen to droop; scarcely a boy but
shuffled his right leg, while their hands, which had been gyrating
fists, unclinched and twitched at their sides. But the boy did not
relax for a second his expression of leaping, bounding rage, of a
savage young soul in a feeble body. Now he included Anderson and the
other men. He held his head with the haughtiness of a prince. He
seemed to question them with silent wrath.

"Who are you who dare to come here and interfere in my quarrel?" he
seemed to say. "I was sufficient unto myself. I needed none of your
protection. What if I was one to a dozen? Look at _me!_" His little
hands did not for a second unclinch. He was really very young,
probably no more than ten. He was scarcely past his babyhood, but he
was fairly impressive, not the slightest maturity of mind, but of
spirit. He could never take a fiercer stand against odds than now if
he lived to be a hundred.

Anderson approached him, in spite of himself, with a certain respect.
"What is the matter, young man?" he inquired, gravely.

The boy regarded him with silent resentment and scorn; he did not
deign an answer. But the big boy replied for him promptly:

"He--he said his father kept a tame elephant when they lived in New
York State, and he--he used to ride him--"

He spoke in a tone of aggrieved vir