ful saving. He
crossed the creek and trudged back to town, and fancied that he was
walking in a sanctified road; for he was full of the resolve to go
straight to the store of the grocer who owned the chicken, and to
offer all his available resources in payment for the wrong he had
done. Only the heel of his left foot touched the ground, and he
progressed slowly. So the afternoon was old when he turned the corner
and trudged into Baker's store. The speech he was going to make, Jimmy
had recited to himself over and over. He intended to walk up to the
counter and say,--

"I want to pay for that chicken I took, Mr. Baker."

To Jimmy that sounded sufficiently humble, and yet it did not seem
completely abject. He fancied the grocer would reply,--

"All right, Jimmy; it will be twenty cents."

To which the boy expected to answer, in a clear, strong voice,--

"Well, Mr. Baker, I have seventeen cents at home; you may have that,
and I will bring in the rest as soon as my mushmelons are ripe."

With that agreement reached, Jimmy saw himself limping out of the
store. He harbored a hope that maybe the grocer, pitying the poor,
lame boy, would call him back, cancel the debt, and perhaps give him
a stick of licorice. Jimmy knew his part by heart. He was sure there
would be no halt nor break in this dialogue. But the demon that was
torturing his destiny that day probably chuckled as Jimmy crossed the
threshold of the grocery store.

The boy that the grocer saw when he looked up from the pickle barrel
certainly had a badly freckled face; the grocer thought the boy had
bold, mean eyes. The youthful jaw set firmly, and the pain in his foot
engraved ugly lines in his face. The button was off one wristband. A
long tear down the lower part of his trousers' leg revealed a glimpse
of brown, tanned skin. He was not a boy that looked like a creature of
dreams and of high resolve. No boy that amounts to much ever does
look the part, as the actors say. So when Jimmy Sears--ragged and
brazen--stood before the wronged chicken owner, rage flooded the man's
bosom. He rushed around the counter end, mumbling at the boy. The
instinct of fear crowded all the fine speeches out of Jimmy's head.
He backed off, and exclaimed, as he saw the grocer grab a butter
paddle,--

"Dern you, don't you touch me; I'll pay for your old chicken. Watch
out now!"

Two scale weights slipped involuntarily into Jimmy's hands, and he
backed from the counter to the si