better things. But here you are again with the marks of a pugilist."

"I don't fight when I can help it, and I'm afraid I never shall get past the fighting age," said George.

"Don't fight when you can help it?" said his father. "Can't you always help it?"

"I might by running away. Do you want me to do that?" the boy answered quietly.

"Of course I don't," said the doctor quickly. "But can't you keep away?"

"I have to go to school," said George, "and I have to be with the boys; and some of them are quarrelsome, and some are full of conceit, and some need a good licking now and then."

"And you consider it your duty to administer it," said the doctor. "Conceit is a crime that can not be too severely punished."

The boy felt the irony of his father's remark, and saw that he did not quite understand that use of the word "conceit," so he proceeded to explain:

"When a boy goes about bragging how many boys he has licked, and how many others he can lick, and how he will do this, that, and the other thing, if everybody doesn't look out, we say he is too conceited and he ought to have the conceit taken out of him; and the first good chance we get we take it out."

"Suppose you left it in him and paid no attention to it—what would happen in that case?" said the doctor.

"He would grow more and more conceited," said George, "and make himself so disagreeable that the boys couldn't enjoy life, and before a great while you would find him picking on smaller boys than himself and licking them, just to have more brag."

"Do you really have any such boys among your schoolfellows, or is this only theoretical?" the doctor inquired.

"There are a few," said George.

"And how do you determine whose duty it is to take the conceit out of one of them? Do you draw lots, or take turns?"

"The boy that enjoys the job the most generally gets it," said George.

"Just so," said the doctor. "And is there some one boy in the school who enjoys the job, as you call it, more than all the others?"

George evidently felt that this question came so near home he ought not to be expected to answer it, and he was silent.

His elder sister, Mary (they had lost their mother five years before), now spoke for the first time.

"Perhaps," said she, "we ought to ask George to tell us the circumstances of this last fight. I don't believe he is always the one to blame."

"Certainly," said the doctor; "that is only fair. Tell us all about it, George."

Thereupon the boy proceeded to tell them all about it in a very animated manner.

"Bill Ammon," he began, "is one of the bossingest boys in school. He expects to have everything his way. I don't blame a boy for wanting things his own way if he takes fair means to get them so, but Bill doesn't always. You and the teacher tell me that bad habits grow worse and worse, and I suppose it was that way with Bill. At any rate, we found out a few days ago that he was taking regular toll out of two smaller boys—Jimmy Nash and Teddy Hawkins—for not licking them. Each of them had to bring him something twice a week—apples, or nuts, or marbles, or candy, or something else that he wanted—and he threatened not only to lick them if they did not bring the things, but to lick them twice as hard if they told any one about it."

"Why did those boys submit to such treatment?" said the doctor.

"Well, you see," said George, "Jimmy Nash's father is a Quaker, and doesn't believe in hurting anybody, and so if Jimmy gets into any trouble he whales him like fury as soon as he finds it out. And Teddy Hawkins's mother gives him plenty of spending money, so he is always able to buy a little something to please Bill, and I suppose he would rather do that than fight."

"If they were boys of any spirit," said the doctor indignantly, "I should think they would join forces and give Bill the thrashing he deserves. The two together ought to be able to do it."

"Yes, they could," said George; "but, you see, they are not twins, and can't always be together—in fact, they live a long way apart—and as soon as Bill caught either of them alone he would make him pay dear for it. He needed to be licked by some one boy."

"I see," said the doctor; "a Decatur was wanted, to put an end to the tribute."

"Exactly!" said George, and his father's eyes twinkled with pleasure to see that he understood the allusion. He was specially anxious that his boy should become familiar with American history, but he had no anticipation that his son would one day make American history.

"When we found it out," George continued, "Bill tried to make us believe that Jimmy and Teddy were simply paying him to protect them. He said he was their best friend. 'What protection do they need?' said I. 'They are peaceable little fellows, and there is nobody that would be coward enough to attack them.' Bill saw that he was cornered on the argument, and at the same time he got mad at the word coward, thinking I meant it for him. I didn't, for I don't consider him a coward at all."

"Not if he is a bully?" said the doctor.

"No, sir," said George. "He certainly is something of a bully, but he is not cowardly."

"There you agree with Charles Lamb," said the doctor.

"Who is Charles Lamb?" said George.

"He was an Englishman, who died fifteen or twenty years ago," said the doctor, "and I hope you'll read his delightful essays some day—but not till you've mastered American history. Attend to that first."

"I'll try to," said George. "When Bill flared up at that word he seemed to lose his head a little. 'Who are you calling a coward?' said he, coming up close to me, with his fist clenched. I said I never called anybody a coward, because if he wasn't one it wouldn't be true, and if he was everybody would find it out soon enough, without my telling them. 'Well, you meant it for me,' said he, 'and you'll have to fight it out, so you'd better take off your jacket mighty quick.' I said I had no objection——"

"You had no objection!" exclaimed his sister Mary.

"Well—that is—under the circumstances," said George, "I didn't see how I could have any. I had no right to have any. Those two boys did need protection—they needed to be protected against Bill Ammon, who was robbing them. And I thought I might as well do it as anybody. So I said, 'Come over to the orchard, boys,' and we all went. Teddy Hawkins held my jacket, and Sim Nelson held Bill's. We squared off and sparred a little while, and I suppose I must have been careless, for Bill got the first clip at me, landing on my eye. But pretty soon I fetched him a good one under the cheek bone, and followed that up with a smasher on——"

An early battle.

Here Mary turned pale, and showed signs of uneasiness and repugnance. George, who was warming up with his subject, did not notice her, but was going on with his description of the fight, when his father stopped him.

"Your sister," he said, "has no taste for these particulars. Never mind them until some time when you and I are alone. Only tell us how it turned out."

"The boys said it turned out that I gave Bill what he deserved, and I hope I did, but I didn't tell them what a mighty hard job I found it."

"Bravo, George!" exclaimed the doctor, and then quickly added: "But don't fight any more."

CHAPTER II.

A group of boys sat on the bank of Onion River, looking at the water and occasionally casting pebbles into it. Wet hair, bare feet, and other circumstances indicated that they had not long