its first.

And of course Solon was much troubled by this, though he never failed to
rally to the support of the lady thus maligned, dwelling upon the
advantage her mere presence must always be to the town.

"If she'd only let it go at that--'her mere presence'--" rejoined Bundy.
But Solon protested, defending the lady's activities. He became
sensitive to any mention of her name, and fell to brooding. He believed
her to be a model woman, and little Roscoe to be a model boy.

"Why don't you try to be more like Roscoe Potts?" I heard him ask his
son in a moment of reproof.

My namesake took it meekly; but to me, privately, he said:--

"Hunh! I can lick Ginger Potts with one hand tied behind me!"

"How do you know?" I asked sternly.

He wriggled somewhat at this, but at length confided in me.

"Well, there's a sell, you know, Uncle Maje. You say, 'They're goin' to
tear the schoolhouse down,' or something like that, and the other boy
says, 'What fur?' and then you say, quick as you can, 'Cat-fur to make
kitten britches of,' and then we all laugh and yell, and I caught Ginger
Potts on it, and he got mad when we yelled and come at me, and they
pushed him against me and they pushed me against him, and they said he
dassent, and they said I dassent, and then it happened, only when I got
him down, he begun to say, 'Oh, it's wrong to fight! I promised my
mother I would never fight!' but I wouldn't 'a' stopped for _that_,
because teacher says he's by far the brightest boy in school--only just
then Eustace Eubanks come along, and he laid down the meat he was taking
home to dinner and jumped into the crowd and says: 'Boys, boys, shame on
you to act so like the brutes! _That_ isn't any way to act!' and he
pulled me off'n Ginger, and--and that's all, but I had him licked fair."

"I shall not tell your father of this," I said sternly.

"He has enough to worry him," said my namesake.

"Exactly," I said. "But I advise you to cultivate a friendly feeling
for Roscoe Potts. Boys should not fight."

"Well--now--I would--but he's a regular teacher's pet."

And remembering the letter that was not sent to Sam Murdock,--that the
teacher was my namesake's love,--I perceived that this breach was not to
be healed.

CHAPTER XII

TROUBLED WATERS ARE STILLED

It was spring again, a Sunday in early May, warm, humid, scented with
blossoms that were bodied souls of the laughing air. They starred the
bank that fell away from my