n's ears and snatching his cap, tossed it over the wall and
across the field where it lay, held fast in a clump of bushes.

Hi secured the cap, and as he pulled it down about his ears he looked back
in the direction from which the gust had blown, and shaking his little
fist exclaimed,

"Nasty old wind! I hate ye and ye know it. 'F I'd a been 'lowed ter stay
home an' whittle like I wanted ter, I wouldn't a lost my cap. I scratched
my fingers gittin' it, an' _that_ makes me mad."

Again he shook his little fist at his enemy, the wind, but as it did not
cease blowing, he drew on his mittens and sulkily plodded on toward
school. His cold fingers smarted where the briers had torn them, and he
felt resentful that he should be on his way toward the despised school
house, quite forgetting that by the fireside with his beloved whittling he
usually managed to cut his fingers.

Whistling lustily, Jack Marvin came down the road, overtaking Hi as he
stumbled along, a most disconsolate little figure.

"Hello, Hi," said Jack. "Why, look here little feller," as he noticed
tears in the bright black eyes.

"'Most frozen, and didn't want ter come ter school, either? Say, gimme yer
hand, mine are warm, an' you'n me'll be in school in no time. What's that?
Ain't done yer sums? Well, now, little chap, you jist come along quick,
an' 'fore ye know it ye'll be gittin' warm in the school room an' I'll
show ye 'bout yer sums 'fore the bell rings. My, but it takes you'n me ter
make good time over the road!"

Jack Marvin never could bear to see a child in tears, and his kind heart
was delighted when little Hi skipped along beside him, laughing gaily, in
spite of the traces of tears upon his cheeks.

Hi looked up to Jack as one of the best among the "big boys," and to race
along beside him and be assured of help with his lessons, took every care
from the little fellow's mind, and he laughed and whistled in company with
Jack.

The boys turned up their collars or ducked their chins beneath the folds
of woollen mufflers; and the girls drew their wraps about them and hurried
on, eager to reach the schoolhouse and gain shelter from the icy blast.

About the great stove they hovered, scorching their faces, while they
endeavored to get thoroughly warmed before the hands of the clock should
point to nine. Two girls were missing from the group around the stove.
Randy Weston, who had been at school in Boston for three months, and
Phoebe Small, whos