Henry Wills and my fist
flashed to his face. He fell backward and rising called me a thief and
the son of a thief. He had not finished the words when I was upon him.
The others formed a ring around us and we began a savage battle. One of
Wills' friends tried to trip me. In the midst of it I saw the
schoolmaster just outside the ring. He seized a boy by the collar.

"There'll be no more interference," said he. "It's goin' to be a fair
fight."

I had felt another unfriendly foot but had not seen its owner. We fought
up and down, with lips and noses bleeding. At last the time had come
when I was quicker and stronger than he. Soon Henry Wills lay on the
ground before me with no disposition to go on with the fight. I helped
him up and he turned away from me. Some of the boys began to jeer him.

"He's a gentleman compared with the rest o' you," I said. "He had
courage enough to say what he thought. There's not another one o' you
would dare do it--not a one o' you."

Then said the schoolmaster:

"If there's any more o' you boys that has any such opinion o' Bart
Baynes let him be man enough to step up an' say it now. If he don't he
ought to be man enough to change his mind on the spot."

A number of the boys and certain of the townsfolk who had gathered about
us clapped their hands. For a long time thereafter I wondered why Henry
had called me a thief. I concluded that it was because "thief" was the
meanest word he could think of in his anger. However that might be, The
Thing forsook me. I felt no more its cold, mysterious shadow between me
and my school fellows. It had stepped out of my path into that of Henry
Wills. His popularity waned and a lucky circumstance it was for him.
From that day he began to take to his books and to improve his standing
in the school.

I observed that he did not go about with Sally as he had done. I had had
no word with her since the night of Mr. Hacket's lecture save the
briefest greeting as we passed each other in the street. Those fine
winter days I used to see her riding a chestnut pony with a long silver
mane that flowed back to her yellow curls in his lope. I loved the look
of her as she went by me in the saddle and a longing came into my heart
that she should think well of me. I made an odd resolve. It was this: I
would make it impossible for her to think ill of me.

I went home one Saturday, having thought much of my aunt and uncle since
The Thing had descended upon us. I found th