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In the reading I had been carried away from myself, and seemed to be beside him in his battle in the world, laying about with him right lustily. Then by force of habit I had looked up and had seen the shadow of the juniper-tree. I was back in my prison. And it was books! "Brace up there, Daniel Arker, and quit your blubbering!" I cried. Daniel was a snuffler.
He knew that I must yell at him. My position also was hemmed about by tradition. To appear not to fear the biggest boy was one of the chief duties of a successful pedagogue. We understood each other. So I yelled once more and closed the window. The moment my back was turned he ran for the door. "It is," Daniel Arker was shouting. "It ain't," Samuel Carter retorted, sticking out his tongue.
"Brace up, Daniel, for I must call the others in, and you don't want them to see you crying. Dare to be like the great Daniel, who wasn't even afraid of the wild beasts." "But Dan'el in the Lion's Den never played sock-ball," whimpered the boy, covering each eye with a chubby fist as he rubbed away the traces of his tears. Beware, Daniel Arker!
He went rumbling on: "William Arker, of Popolomus, and Miss Myrtle McGee, of Turkey Valley, were united in the holy bonds of matrimony on the sixth ultimo." "Elmer," I said sharply, thumping the floor with a crutch. Spiker turned slowly. "Oh," he exclaimed, "is that you? Excuse me; I was reading the news.
His hair relieved this somewhat, for it was white and always stood gaily on end, defying brush and comb. Daniel Arker, a sturdy black-haired lad, would have done fuller justice to the passage that fell to Abraham, for the Spiker boy with his gentle lisp never shone in elocution; but our reading class is a lottery, as we go from scholar to scholar down the line.
It was young Colonel's first day of life. He was out in the great dog world, and about him were the mighty hunters of the valley. Arnold Arker was there with his father's rifle, once a flint-lock, always a piece of marvellous accuracy, and a hero as guns go, and the old man patted the puppy and pulled his silky ears. Tip Pulsifer approved of him.
"Perhaps he has deserted his wife," I said, seeing at last a possible solution of the mystery. "That's what Arnold Arker suggested just a few days ago," returned Tim; "but Tip Pulsifer allowed that no fellow would have to come so far to desert his wife." "Tip ought to know," said I, "for he deserts his once a year, regularly." "He always comes back the next day," retorted Tim stoutly.
Now I whistled as merry a tune as I knew. "You seem to take well with solitude," came a voice behind me. Looking about, I saw Robert Weston fighting his way through the thicket. "I take better to company," I said. "Why have you deserted the others?" Weston sat down at my side with his gun across his knees. "Arnold Arker says there is a fox in that hollow," he answered.
Arker to let me have one of them window-plants of hers, and I'll put it in a new tomato-can and paint it. How's that for a starter?" "I've never read about men sending geraniums," I replied. "It's odd, but I never have. I suppose the can makes them seem a little unwieldly. Still " "I had thought of forty-graph album." Perry spoke timidly again.
It was ragged and dirty, and I was proud of it. It was a bit thin for a chilly autumn day, but in spite of Tim's expostulation I had worn it, refusing his offers of a warmer garb. I was clinging to my glory. While I had on that old uniform, I was a soldier. When I laid it aside, I should become as Aaron Kallaberger and Arnold Arker.
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