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Updated: May 26, 2025
Everywhere on the declivitous waysides, tow-haired, blue-eyed children guarded herds of goats, as their forbears had done in the days of Vercingetorix, the Gaul. Nowhere, save in the dimly seen remotenesses of the valleys, where vestiges of red-roofed villages emerged through the fertile summer green, was there sign of habitation.
He was a tow-haired youngster of fifteen with very bright blue eyes and a tip-tilted nose that gave him a humorously impertinent look. He, like Steve and Tom, was a Fourth Former. His home was in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania, and, while Pittsburg was a good hundred miles from Tannersville, the fact that they were citizens of the same glorious commonwealth had drawn he and Steve together.
"Mother, come and see me take a fence on Pryor's Rocket!" he cried. Mother had him in her arms. "You little whiffet!" she said. "You little tow-haired whiffet!" Both of them were laughing and crying at the same time, and so was I. "I saw you take one fence and the creek, Weiscope!" she said, holding him tight, and stroking his hair. "That will do for to-day.
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