either in victory or in
defeat.

It was after twelve o'clock on that Christmas day when Ralph put his
head out the door of the school-house and called out: "Bud, I'd like to
see you."

Bud did not care to see the master, for he had inly resolved to "thrash
him" and have done with him. But he couldn't back out, certainly not in
sight of the others who were passing along the road with him.

"I don't want the rest of you," said Ralph in a decided way, as he saw
that Hank and one or two others were resolved to come also.

"Thought maybe you'd want somebody to see far play," said Hank as he
went off sheepishly.

"If I did, you would be the last one I should ask," said Ralph. "There's
no unfair play in Bud, and there is in you." And he shut the door.

"Now, looky here, Mr. Ralph Hartsook," said Bud. "You don't come no gum
games over me with your saft sodder and all that. I've made up my mind.
You've got to promise to leave these 'ere digging, or I've got to thrash
you."

"You'll have to thrash me, then," said Ralph, turning a little pale, but
remembering the bulldog. "But you'll tell me what It's all about, won't
you?"

"You know well enough. Folks says you know more 'bout the robbery at the
Dutchman's than you orter. But I don't believe them. Fer them as says it
is liars and thieves theirselves. 'Ta'n't fer none of that. And I shan't
tell you what it _is_ fer. So now, if you won't travel, why, take off
your coat and git ready fer a thrashing."

The master took off his coat and showed his slender arms. Bud laid his
off, and showed the physique of a prize-fighter.

"You a'n't a-goin to fight _me_?" said Bud.

"Not unless you make me."

"Why I could chaw you all up."

"I know that."

"Well, you're the grittiest feller I ever did see, and ef you'd jest kep
off of my ground I wouldn't a touched you. But I a'n't a-goin' to be cut
out by no feller a livin' 'thout thrashin' him in an inch of his life.
You see I wanted to git out of this Flat Crick way. We're a low-lived
set here in Flat Crick. And I says to myself, I'll try to be somethin'
more nor Pete Jones, and dad, and these other triflin', good-fer-nothin'
ones 'bout here. And when you come I says, There's one as'll help me.
And what do you do with yor book-larnin' and town manners but start
right out to git away the gal that I'd picked out, when I'd picked her
out kase I thought, not bein' Flat Crick born herself, she might help a
feller to do better! Now I