temptuous tone which Harold knew so
well, and which always made his blood boil and his fingers tingle with a
desire to knock the speaker down:

'Oh, that's Hal Hastings, a poor boy, who does chores for us and the St.
Claires. His grandmother used to work at the park house, and so uncle
Arthur pays for his schooling, and Hal allows it, which I think right
small in him. I wouldn't be a charity student, anyway, if I never knew
anything. Besides that, what's the use of education to chaps like him.
Better stay as he was born. I don't believe in educating the masses, do
you?'

Of himself Tom could never have thought of all this, but he had heard it
from his mother, who frequently used the expression 'not to elevate the
masses,' forgetting that she was once herself a part of the mass which
she would now keep down.

Just what Fred said in reply Harold did not hear. There was a ringing in
his ears, and he felt as if every drop of blood in his body was rushing
to his head as he sat down, dizzy and bewildered, and smarting cruelly
under the wound he had received this time. He had more than once been
taunted with his poverty and dependence upon Mr. Tracy, but the taunts
had never hurt him so before, and he could have cried out in his pain as
he thought of Tom's words, and knew that in himself there was the making
of a far nobler manhood than Tom Tracy would ever know.

Was poverty, which one could not help, so terrible a disgrace, an
insuperable barrier to elevation, and was it mean and small in him to
accept his education from a man on whom he had no claim? Possibly; and
if so, the state of things should not continue. He would go to Arthur
Tracy, thank him for all he had done, and tell him he could receive no
more from him; that if he had an education, he must get it himself by
the work of his own hands, and thus be beholden to no one.

Full of this resolution, he went down the stairs and out into the open
air, which cooled his hot head a little, though it was still throbbing
terribly as he went through the leafy woods toward home.

In the lane he saw Jerry coming toward him, with her sun-bonnet hanging
down her back and her soft, curly hair blowing around her forehead. The
moment she saw him she knew something was the matter, and, hastening her
steps to run, asked him what had happened, and why he looked so white
and mad.

Harold was sure of sympathy from Jerry, and he told her his story, which
roused her to a high pitch