knelt down in a great hurry to untie
his one shoe.

But Miss Celia liked his answer better than the finest speech ever made
her, and went away through the moonlight, saying to herself,--

"If I can bring one lost lamb into the fold, I shall be the fitter for a
shepherd's wife, by-and-by."

CHAPTER XXII

A BOY'S BARGAIN

It was some days before the children were tired of talking over Ben's
birthday party; for it was a great event in their small world; but,
gradually, newer pleasures came to occupy their minds, and they began to
plan the nutting frolics which always followed the early frosts. While
waiting for Jack to open the chestnut burrs, they varied the monotony of
school life by a lively scrimmage long known as "the wood-pile fight."

The girls liked to play in the half-empty shed, and the boys, merely for
the fun of teasing, declared that they should not, so blocked up the
doorway as fast as the girls cleared it. Seeing that the squabble was a
merry one, and the exercise better for all than lounging in the sun or
reading in school during recess, Teacher did not interfere, and the
barrier rose and fell almost as regularly as the tide.

It would be difficult to say which side worked the harder; for the boys
went before school began to build up the barricade, and the girls stayed
after lessons were over to pull down the last one made in afternoon
recess. They had their play-time first; and, while the boys waited
inside, they heard the shouts of the girls, the banging of the wood, and
the final crash, as the well-packed pile went down. Then, as the lassies
came in, rosy, breathless, and triumphant, the lads rushed out to man
the breach, and labor gallantly till all was as tight as hard blows
could make it.

So the battle raged, and bruised knuckles, splinters in fingers, torn
clothes, and rubbed shoes, were the only wounds received, while a great
deal of fun was had out of the maltreated logs, and a lasting peace
secured between two of the boys.

When the party was safely over, Sam began to fall into his old way of
tormenting Ben by calling names, as it cost no exertion to invent trying
speeches, and slyly utter them when most likely to annoy. Ben bore it as
well as he could; but fortune favored him at last, as it usually does
the patient, and he was able to make his own terms with his tormentor.

When the girls demolished the wood-pile, they performed a jubilee chorus
on combs, and tin kettles, played