ry yesterday
evening to Miss Jane--"

"What's chivalry?" the mountaineer interrupted.

"Chivalry? Why, bless my soul, sir," the old gentleman exclaimed,
"chivalry, sir, chivalry is what we all have, sir!" He wiped his brow
and stood in the path, planting himself firmly with a glare that defied
contradiction.

"Chivalry, Dale," Bob said, not daring to laugh, "is the skeleton, or
framework, on which gentlemen are built."

"Bones?" he asked, with a perplexed pucker between his eyes.

"Not bones, exactly," Bob smiled now. "And yet it is a sort of backbone,
too, when you come to think of it."

"Bob, your ignorance is colossal, sir," the Colonel sternly looked at
him. "Chivalry, Dale, is what we all have, and what prompted you to
tackle that ruffian yesterday. The definition is quite simple, and of
course you follow me. As I was saying, sir, we prefer to thank you now
in behalf of Miss Jane, since any further reference to the matter will
be unnecessary. You appreciate this?"

"What's appreciate?" he asked.

The old gentleman told him and, while his face still held a troubled
look, he nodded as though understanding--not only the word, but the
delicacy imposed on him.

"I don't want nobody ter thank me," he said. "I didn't do nothin' fer
_her_!"

He said this quietly, so simply, that its peculiarity did not at once
seem apparent, and before they had time to wonder at it, Dale, who now
was leading, turned in the path and glared at them. His eyes were as
stern as those of a wrathful god, and his lips as resolute as Thor.

"Do ye reckon I'd hev let that damned hound scare the teacher away, when
I've jest now got hyar fer the big larnin'? If I hadn't stepped in, he'd
a-tuck her ter his cabin; 'n' if I hadn't burned 'im out, he'd be likely
ter stay 'round; 'n' as long as he'd be likely ter stay 'round, she'd be
likely ter stay away from school. Then how'd I git my larnin'?" He
gritted his teeth, and suddenly yelled at them: "I won't take no
chances! I'll git the larnin', I tell ye! 'N' if one, or a hund'ed,
tries ter come 'tween me 'n' hit--" He did not finish, but stood swaying
from side to side with an overwhelming intensity of feeling.

Bob's inclination was to smile; not at what he said so much as at the
grotesque figure he made while saying it. The long hair that had been
flying back from his forehead as a lion might have tossed its shaggy
mane, the homespun trousers tucked into wrinkled boots which were
planted