part of the conversation from the men
following him until, as they neared the house, Uncle Larimy said: "I
was afeerd Dave hed his pa's temper snoozin' inside him. Mebby he'd
orter be told fer a warnin'."

"I don't want to say nuthin' about it less I hev to. I'll wait till
the next time he loses his temper."

David ducked his head in the wash basin on the bench outside the door.
After supper, when Barnabas came out on the back porch for his hour of
pipe, he called his young charge to him. Since the fight, David's face
had worn a subdued but contented expression.

"Looks," thought Barnabas, "kinder eased off, like a dog when he licks
his chops arter the taste of blood has been drawed."

"Set down, Dave. I want to talk to you. You done right to fight fer
yer folks, and you're a good fighter, which every boy orter be, but
when I come up to you and Jud I see that in yer face that I didn't
know was in you. You've got an orful temper, Dave. It's a good thing
to hev--a mighty good thing, if you kin take keer of it, but if you
let it go it's what leads to murder. Your pa hed the same kind of
let-loose temper that got him into heaps of trouble."

"What did my father do?" he asked abruptly.

Instinctively he had shrunk from asking his mother this question, and
pride had forbidden his seeking the knowledge elsewhere.

"Some day, when you are older, you will know all about it. But
remember, when any one says anything like what Jud did, that yer ma
wouldn't want fer you to hev thoughts of killin'. You see, you fought
jest as well--probably better--when you hed cooled off a mite and hed
promised to fight fair. And ef you can't wrastle your temper and down
it as you did Jud, you're not a fust-class fighter."

"I'll try," said David slowly, unable, however, to feel much remorse
for his outbreak.

"Jud'll let you alone arter this. You'd better go to bed now. You need
a little extry sleep."

M'ri came into his room when he was trying to mend a long rent in his
shirt. He flushed uncomfortably when her eye fell on the garment. She
took it from him.

"I'll mend it, David. I don't wonder that your patience slipped its
leash, but--never fight when you have murder in your heart."

When she had left the room, Janey's face, pink and fair as a baby
rose, looked in at the door.

"It's very wicked to fight and get so mad, Davey."

"I know it," he acknowledged readily. It was useless trying to make a
girl understand.

There was a