g ahead in search of game, the world was his.
Life was very full and happy, save for the one inevitable sprig of
bitter--Jud! The big bully of a boy had learned that David was his
equal physically and his superior mentally, but the fear of David and
of David's good standing kept him from venturing out in the open; so
from cover he sought by all the arts known to craftiness to harass the
younger boy, whose patience this test tried most sorely.

One day when Little Teacher had given him a verbose definition of the
word "pestiferous," David looked at her comprehendingly. "Like Jud,"
he murmured.

Many a time his young arms ached to give Jud another thrashing, but
his mother's parting injunction restrained him.

"If only," he sighed, "Jud belonged to some one else!"

He vainly sought to find the hair line that divided his sense of
gratitude and his protection of self-respect.

Winter followed, and the farm work droned. It was a comfortable, cozy
time, with breakfast served in the kitchen on a table spread with a
gay, red cloth. Pennyroyal baked griddle-sized cakes, delivering them
one at a time direct from the stove to the consumer. The early hour
of lamplight made long evenings, which were beguiled by lesson books
and story-books, by an occasional skating carnival on the river, a
coasting party at Long Hill, or a "surprise" on some hospitable
neighbor.

One morning he came into school with face and eyes aglow with
something more than the mere delight of living. It meant mischief,
pure and simple, but Little Teacher was not always discerning. She
gave him a welcoming smile of sheer sympathy with his mood. She didn't
smile, later, when the schoolroom was distracted by the sound of
raucous laughter, feminine screams, and a fluttering of skirts as the
girls scrambled to standing posture in their chairs. Astonished, she
looked for the cause. The cause came her way, and the pupils had a
fresh example of the miracles wrought by a mouse, for Little Teacher,
usually the personification of dignity and repose, screamed lustily
and scudded chairward with as much rapidity as that displayed by the
scurrying mouse as it chased for the corner and disappeared through a
knothole.

As soon as the noiseful glee had subsided, Little Teacher sought to
recover her prided self-possession. In a voice resonant with
sternness, she commanded silence, gazing wrathfully by chance at
little Tim Wiggins.

"'T was David done it," he said in dep