kind.

"He's shot painters and b'ars," said Andy. "An' skinned 'em. Kin you
lick him, Smally? I reckon not."

Now I had not come to the school for fighting. So I held back.
Fortunately for me, Smally held back also. But he tried skilful tactics.

"He kin throw you, Sandy."

Andy faced me in an instant.

"Kin you?" said he.

There was nothing to do but try, and in a few seconds we were rolling on
the ground, to the huge delight of Smally and the others, Andy shouting
all the while and swearing. We rolled and rolled and rolled in the mud,
until we both lost our breath, and even Andy stopped swearing, for want
of it. After a while the boys were silent, and the thing became grim
earnest. At length, by some accident rather than my own strength, both
his shoulders touched the ground. I released him. But he was on his feet
in an instant and at me again like a wildcat.

"Andy won't stay throwed," shouted a boy. And before I knew it he had
my shoulders down in a puddle. Then I went for him, and affairs were
growing more serious than a wrestle, when Smally, fancying himself safe,
and no doubt having a grudge, shouted out:--

"Tell him he slobbers, Davy."

Andy DID slobber. But that was the end of me, and the beginning of
Smally. Andy left me instantly, not without an intimation that he
would come back, and proceeded to cover Smally with red clay and blood.
However, in the midst of this turmoil the schoolmaster arrived,
haled both into the schoolhouse, held court, and flogged Andrew with
considerable gusto. He pronounced these words afterwards, with great
solemnity:--

"Andrew Jackson, if I catch ye fightin' once more, I'll be afther givin'
ye lave to lave the school."

I parted from Andy at noon with real regret. He was the first boy with
whom I had ever had any intimacy. And I admired him: chiefly, I fear,
for his fluent use of profanity and his fighting qualities. He was a
merry lad, with a wondrous quick temper but a good heart. And he seemed
sorry to say good-by. He filled my pockets with June apples--unripe, by
the way--and told me to remember him when I got TILL Charlestown.

I remembered him much longer than that, and usually with a shock of
surprise.

CHAPTER III. CHARLESTOWN

Down and down we went, crossing great rivers by ford and ferry, until
the hills flattened themselves and the country became a long stretch
of level, broken by the forests only; and I saw many things I had not
thought were on