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To-day they had carried it too far when one of them, just out in the church yard, pushed him rudely as he walked proudly by the side of his mother, looking straight before him, in his military way, and not so much as giving them a glance. "Wood's-colt," sneered the boy in his ear, as he pushed him. "No thoroughbred" came back, and with it a blow which sent the intruder backward on the grass.
The hot and resentful blood still tinged in his cheek. He looked at his knuckles they were cut and swollen where he had struck the boy who had jeered him. It hurt him, but he only smiled grimly. Never before had any one called him a wood's-colt. He had never heard the word before, but he knew what it meant. For the first time in his life, he hated his mother.
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