“Well, Jim,” I said, as I returned home in the fast-gathering twilight, with my escort trotting beside me, “how are you getting on now at school? I have not heard lately.”

“I’m havin’ an awful hard time just now, Miss Amy,” he answered, coming nearer, “an awful hard time.”

“How is that?” I asked. “Are they pressing you too much? Have they given you too many lessons, or are those you had before becoming harder?”

“Neither, miss,” he answered. “’Tain’t the lessons; I don’t mind them. Lessons ain’t nothin’ I mean lessons ain’t anything” Jim was growing more choice in language, and taking infinite pains with his parts of speech “when a feller has such good help as Miss Milly or Mr. Edward. If they’re too hard for me, one of ’em always helps me an’ makes ’em plain, an’ I keep along good enough in the classes. But it’s the keepin’ cool, an’ not flyin’ out when I get provoked, ’specially with that Theodore Yorke. Miss Amy, you never saw the like of him. He’s just the meanest chap ever breathed; and the way he finds out things you don’t want him to know, an’ keeps bringin’ ’em up an’ naggin’ about ’em, is the worst.”

“All the more credit to you, then, Jim, if you keep your temper under such provocation,” I answered soothingly, “and you show yourself by far the better man of the two. You know the Bible says, ’Greater is he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.’”

“Well, Miss Amy,” he said, “I guess it ain’t no such rememberin’ nor Bible texes that keeps me cool. It’s lots of other things. First, I do want awful bad to do credit to Miss Milly; then I don’t want to fight Theodore, nor have a real sharp fallin’ out, on account of the captain an’ Mrs. Yorke; then I’m thinkin’, if I don’t learn to hold my temper now, how will it be if I come to be President of these States? I s’pose there’s lots of things that’ll be provokin’, an’ hard to stand, when you’re President; and if Congress don’t want to mind you right spang off when you tell ’em to do a thing, an’ goes to foolin’ round about it, I s’pose it don’t do to be flyin’ out, ’cause then folks would think you wasn’t fit to be President. Besides, when one’s mad he can’t think about the best way to do things, an’ I might make foolish laws they wouldn’t like. But most of all it will be a great deal better way to get even with Theodore if I come out first with Mr. ”

Here he suddenly checked himself, and even in the dim twilight I could see the color mounting to the roots of his carroty hair. He had evidently been on the verge of some disclosure which he would have regretted, and no questions succeeded in drawing forth any thing further from him.

He had been sufficiently candid, however, in admitting that he was not influenced, in the struggle with himself, by any abstract notions of right and wrong, or by any special desire to please a higher power. But that he had some motive still undeclared, and of greater weight with him than any of those he had mentioned, I was convinced; and why should he wish to keep it back?

However, my cogitations on the subject, and Jim’s confidences, were now cut short by the appearance at the corner, of another escort, who took charge of me at once with a very decided remonstrance against my remaining out till this hour “with only the protection of that boy.”

This was a slight which would have wounded Jim to the quick had he heard it, which he fortunately did not, as it was spoken in an undertone; and he was evidently pleased to be freed from an attendance which had become embarrassing to him by his own indiscretion.

“What do you suppose he could have meant?” I asked of Milly that night, after I had rehearsed to her, in the privacy of our own room, my conversation with Jim.

“I am sure I do not know,” said my sister. “If it were possible, I should think he meant uncle Rutherford’s prize; but as he does not and can not know of that, of course it cannot be. And while we must all wish that he were acting from a higher motive than any of these, still it is a great point gained, that he is so learning to control himself; the habit will be formed, and he will learn to be his own master. But I fear that Theodore Yorke is not a truthful or upright boy. Even our own boys, who see so little of him, call him a sneak; and although he has a bold, self-assertive manner, it has none of Jim’s frankness. Oh, uncle Rutherford, I wish that you could have seen things differently!”

But as uncle Rutherford had not only seen things in his own light, but had acted thereon, there was nothing for us to do beyond giving Jim what help we could. There was little, however, a lady could do to help a boy in a public school in his struggle with adverse circumstances, save by advice and encouragement; and Milly did not fail him in these.

Taking a hint from what I had seen of Jim’s influence over Matty, I now based my plans for her benefit and regeneration upon that, in addition to the play upon her vanity by means of that wonderful and much-prized hair. Jim, too, I knew would paint me and all my doings in glowing colors, making much of any little kindness I might do for her.

The blue dress and other decent clothes were kept at kind Mrs. Petersen’s “for fear of the drink,” and Matty donned them there when she found occasion to wear them; and this led me to carry out the idea of rescuing the children, Matty and Tony, entirely from the intemperate wretches who dishonored the names of father and mother, and placing them under the care of Mrs. Petersen. So long as the two little cripples brought home such portion of their weekly earnings as Jim had agreed should be allowed to Blair and his wife, the latter cared little where or how the neglected children spent their time, especially as they were now provided with their dinner as a part of the price of their services at the peanut-stand.

The disapprobation in Milly’s manner, which I had noticed and wondered at, when my new enterprise was under consideration, had altogether vanished after that first afternoon; and she had not only helped with all her might in the making of the blue dress, but she had ever since been interested and full of thoughtful suggestion.

“Milly,” I said to her one day soon after, “why did you seem so unwilling to have me undertake to care for that little cripple? You surely had formed a precedent for such things in our family. I never could understand your objections; for, that you had objections, I could not help seeing.”

Milly laughed.

“I find that such objections as I entertained were not well founded,” she answered.

“Perhaps so, but that does not tell me what they were,” I insisted.

“Well,” she said, “I was a little afraid that Jim might feel that you were trespassing on his preserves; and your field for charity is so large, and his so small, that I did not wish him to imagine that he was interfered with.”

“Well, that is disposed of, for he is delighted with my co-operation,” I said. “Now, what else was it?”

Milly was reluctant to say; but I persisted, and at last she answered,

“I feared that it was only that you would soon tire of it, Amy, and that the experiment would then prove good neither for you nor for Matty; but in that too I hope I was wrong.”

After events left no room to prove whether or no I should have been long steadfast to my purpose of caring for poor Matty; that was taken out of my hands.

Jim’s report from school had been one of unbroken credit for weeks now, in conduct, that is; and to those who knew the boy’s fiery, impulsive, and, until he fell under Milly’s care, untrained, nature, the record was a remarkable one. In his classes, he was doing fairly well, and making progress of which he had no need to be ashamed, but his lessons were by no means always perfect; and, happily, it was not so much to them that we looked, as the chief means for his gaining uncle Rutherford’s prize, for Theodore’s standing in this respect was generally a better one than his own.

I had noticed, and Milly at length came to do so, that if the record was an unusually good one, and he received an extra amount of praise, he still always appeared sheepish and ill at ease, and as though he had something on his mind which he was half-inclined to make known. But he never came to the point of doing so, and Milly had ceased to ask him.

We were kept pretty well informed, too, of the progress and standing of Theodore Yorke; partly by uncle Rutherford’s interest in the matter and the inquiries he made of the teachers every week, and also by the captain’s pride in his grandson, whom he considered a prodigy of learning. The boy was certainly bright and clever, as was Jim; and the two kept fairly even in their record, both for lessons and conduct.

But while Jim continued to grow in popularity with both teachers and scholars, it was not so with Theodore, and there was a strong prejudice against him, especially among the boys. There seemed to be no particular cause of offence or instance of wrong-doing to be brought against him, but there it was; and neither masters nor schoolmates seemed to place any confidence in him.

As far as trade went, Jim was certainly making a good thing out of the school; for, owing to his persuasions, to say nothing of that leaning toward peanuts which is a marked feature of every boyish mind, the calls at Matty’s stand on the way to and from the school were very frequent; and while pennies and nickels flowed in upon the small vender, peanut-shells were scattered all over the building and playground, until at last they called forth a remonstrance from the janitor. Finding this of no avail, he threatened an appeal to the higher authorities; but, as he was a good-natured old soul, he hesitated to draw reproof upon the boys, when about this time an incident occurred which made complaint unnecessary, as peanuts became prohibited altogether within school bounds.

“Jim,” said a boy, coming to him one morning before the school-bell rang, “do you see the lot of peanuts Theodore Yorke has?”

“I don’t pay much heed to Theodore Yorke or his havin’s,” answered Jim scornfully. “It’s no odds to me if he has bushels of peanuts or nary a one.”

“But maybe it is odds to you,” answered the other boy. “I ain’t a telltale; but Theodore Yorke’s always buyin’ peanuts off of your stand, an’ you can bet he comes away from that stand with a lot more peanuts for two cents or five cents than any one of the rest of us does.”

Jim turned sharply upon him.

“You don’t mean Matty gives him over measure, Rob?” he said.

“She don’t give him over measure, but he gets over measure,” replied Rob; “an’ I tell you ‘cause I think it’s a shame to be cheatin’ you an’ the girl.”

“What is it, then? Out with it!” exclaimed Jim. “I can see how she can cheat him givin’ him short measure if she likes, but I can’t see how he can cheat her gettin’ over measure.”

“S’pose when she’s measurin’ out what he’s asked for, he puts his hand into the big basket on her other side, maybe more than once, too; how’ll that do for helping himself to long measure, hey?” said Robert.

“How do you know?” asked Jim, trying to control his rising fury until he had all the facts.

“I’ve seen him do it more than once, an’ more than twice,” replied Rob. “You know we live in the same house, and mostly come on to school together, an’ both him an’ me is apt to stop for peanuts. And the first time I saw him do that, taking out a handful extra for himself, was one morning when I hadn’t any money to buy; but he stopped in, and I staid out, ’cause it was too kind of tantalizing to go in and smell ’em all freshly roasted, and not get any; and I was looking in between the posies and plants in the shop, and when Matty was filling up her measure for him only the two-center one I saw him do that mean trick; on a girl, too, and she a hunchback! He slipped his hand into the basket, and carried it full to his dinner-basket. So after that I watched, whether I went in or staid out; and he never lets a time go by that he don’t hook a handful, maybe two, if he gets the chance. You see, that girl’s got such a lot of thick hair hanging round her, it’s most like a thick veil, and would keep her from seeing what goes on behind or by the side of her. I tell you, Jim, I guess with one time and another he must have bagged two or three quarts of peanuts off of you and the hunchback, and I couldn’t let it go on any longer. This very morning he bought two cents worth, and hooked as much as five.”

Jim’s indignation had grown higher and fiercer with every succeeding word of this story; and, unfortunately, at this moment Theodore came around a corner of the school-building upon the playground, and, as a combination of ill luck would have it, he was eating peanuts, which he extracted from a pocket whose bulging proportions showed that the stock from which he was drawing was a large one.

The sight inflamed Jim’s passion beyond all bounds; and he immediately advanced upon Theodore in a manner and with a look which left no doubt as to his purpose. The culprit dodged the first blow aimed at him; but in another instant Jim’s hand was upon his collar, while, with language which was neither choice nor mild, he struck him several times, and would have continued the blows had he not in his turn been seized upon by one of the masters, who had seen the whole thing, to whom it appeared to be the most unprovoked attack.

Jim’s fury had so passed beyond restraint, that for a moment neither the sight of the teacher nor his stern voice calling him to order had the effect of bringing him to his senses; and he even turned upon the gentleman himself, probably believing for the moment that it was one of the other boys. His crestfallen, mortified look when he was recalled to himself did not help him in the estimation of the teacher, who took it as a sign of guilt; while Theodore, once freed from his assailant, stood by as the martyr and peaceable boy who would not strike a blow, even in self-defence. Rob, meanwhile, frightened by the consequences of his disclosures to Jim, slunk off without waiting to bear testimony to the provocation which Jim believed himself to have received.

Jim was “reported,” of course, and punished; and the knowledge that this must come to the ears of Miss Milly and Mr. Rutherford did not tend to soothe his anger, nor did he feel that his desire for vengeance was yet satisfied. As he had been deprived of his recess, however, he had no immediate opportunity of gratifying it; and when school was over, the principal, who was a just though strict man, and who was particularly interested in uncle Rutherford’s scheme and the two rivals for his prize, called both Jim and Theodore before him, and inquired into the cause of the disturbance.

Now, Theodore was perfectly well aware of this, for Jim had not failed to make use of his tongue as well as his fists, and he knew that in some way his petty and oft-repeated thefts had come to light; but he was not going to confess his own iniquities, and Jim was what Rob Stevens, with less reason, had asserted himself to be, “no telltale.”

He rather sulkily replied, to the questions of the principal, that “Theodore knew, and could tell if he liked;” but Theodore doggedly declared that he had given and knew of no cause of offence, and that the attack had been entirely without reason.

As Jim could not be persuaded to bring any accusation other than the scornful, ferocious looks with which he regarded Theodore; while Theodore himself was evidently uneasy and fearful lest his antagonist should speak the truth, Mr. Rollins was convinced that the latter was really, in some way, to blame. But of course he could not punish him without reason; while Jim had been caught red-handed, and must, at least, be reprimanded and warned. The gentleman told him that he forfeited his recess for a week, and that, if he trespassed again in this manner, he would be degraded to a lower class.

Jim received his sentence in silence; but when Mr. Rollins spoke of the penalty to follow future offending, his ruddy face blanched. That meant not only disgrace in the school, but, what was far worse to him, before Miss Milly and Mr. Rutherford, and the lessening of his “chance” with the latter, and Theodore’s preferment above him.

As the boys were dismissed from the tribunal of justice, and turned away, Mr. Rollins caught a glance of gratified malice which Theodore cast at the other boy; and he was more than ever persuaded that there was something behind all this, and that Theodore was, perhaps, the one who was the most to blame.

They had reached the door, when Jim turned, and, coming back to the desk of the principal, said in a low tone, “Thank you, sir, for not puttin’ any thing more on me than the recess. I don’t mind that so much, an’ I’ll try hard not to break rules again; but you can’t tell how hard it is not to get mad when the mad lies so near the top, an’ you’re gettin’” “cheated” would have been the next word, but Jim checked himself ere it was spoken.

“Do I not, my boy?” answered the gentleman: then seeing that Theodore was lingering at the door as if anxious to hear what passed, he said to him, with something of sternness in his voice, born of the doubt as to which of the two boys was the greater culprit, “Go on, sir, you have no need to wait;” adding to himself, “That boy has a guilty conscience.” Then, when Theodore had closed the door behind him, he turned again to Jim, and continued, “You are mistaken, Jim, if you think I do not know what it is to struggle with a quick temper.”

“You, sir?” said Jim.

“Yes, I,” answered Mr. Rollins; and then he followed with the story of his own struggles with a passionate temper, and the final victory over himself, with much good advice and encouragement to Jim. Encouraged the boy certainly did feel, as he left the presence of the master, fortified with new resolutions for the future.

But master Theodore was not to escape without his share of punishment.

As his own ill luck would have it, perhaps it would be better to say, as a righteous retribution would have it, as he was on his way home from school, and was crossing the park on which our house fronted, he fell in with three or four of his classmates, among them Rob Stevens, the witness of his thefts.

“What have you done with Jim?” asked one of the boys.

“He’s getting it from the commander-in-chief,” said Theodore exultantly. “He’s lost his recess for a week, and is to be put down to class four if he gets into another of his rages, as he’s sure to do; and now he’s taking no end of a blowing-up. The commander sent me out so I wouldn’t hear it. Good enough for him. I hope he’ll get it hot and heavy.”

“What did you get?” asked Rob.

“What did I get? Nothing; why should I?” responded Theodore, who had not the slightest idea of the way by which Jim had learned of his thefts, or that here was his accuser.

“Didn’t you tell why Jim pitched into you when you saw he was gettin’ held up for it?” asked Rob.

“No!” roared Theodore, partly in fear, partly in anger, for he now could not fail to see that Rob knew something, but how much he could not tell. “I hadn’t any thing to tell, and hadn’t done any thing to Jim, to his high-mightiness Jim Grant Garfield Rutherford Livingstone Washington, the fellow with a whole dictionary-full of names, and not a right to one of them but the Jim. I just wish he would get into a dozen tantrums, till he gets expelled from the school.”

“Nothin’ mean about you, is there?” said one of the other boys indignantly, although he was still ignorant of the cause of Jim’s provocation.

But this was too much for Rob.

The boys had neared the fountain in the centre of the park. At this season, it was never or seldom playing; but some repairs had been found necessary, and the workmen had had the jet in action for some hours, and the large basin around it was full of water. The boys stopped beside it, not noticing a tall figure which sat upon one of the park benches near.

“Nothing mean about him!” repeated Rob in a loud voice, which might easily be heard on the other side of the fountain, “nothing mean about Theodore Yorke! He’s the meanest sneak in our school, or out of it, either! I’ll tell you why Jim pitched into him. He’s been stealing peanuts off of Jim’s stand when the little hunchback’s head was turned. I saw him, more than once, and I wasn’t going to have it any longer; so I told Jim, and I’d just told him of it when Theodore came on eating peanuts, the very ones, for all I know, that I saw him steal this morning; and no wonder Jim’s spirit was up, and he pitched into him. I wish he’d had it out with him, too, before Mr. Leeds came up. If he was going to be punished, he might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. And Jim’s never said a word, I s’pose, or let on what he did it for; and you let him take all the blame. Bah! I wouldn’t be you, for a cart-load of peanuts!”

“You didn’t see me, either. I don’t know what you’re talking about!” stammered Theodore, so taken aback by the damaging testimony of this unexpected witness of his sin, that he lost all self-possession, and his looks proclaimed him guilty of the offence with which he was charged.

Uprose from the bench beyond the group the figure sitting there, and, striding towards the still unobservant boys, laid one hand upon Theodore’s collar, the other on that of Rob; and the startled Theodore looked up into the stern, set face of his grandfather.

“Have I heerd aright?” said the old man in his righteous wrath. “Have I heerd my gran’son called a thief, an’ a sneak, what let a boy like Jim be blamed for doin’ what he had a right to do, if what this ’ere feller says is true? Kin ye prove it?” turning to Rob, while he still kept a tight hold on either boy.

“Yes, I can,” said Rob, maintaining his ground, although he was a little frightened by the captain’s looks and tones; and once more he rehearsed the story in all its details.

By this time several persons, attracted by the somewhat unusual spectacle of an old man holding two boys by their collars, had stopped to hear what was going on; and there were symptoms of a crowd. Seeing this from afar, a policeman bore down upon the scene, the very one who had had the dispute with the captain as to the propriety of Daisy playing peanut-vender on the street-corner.

As he came near, Captain Yorke released his hold upon Rob’s collar; then tightening that upon Theodore’s, the still stalwart old seaman lifted the boy from his feet, and, stepping close to the basin of the fountain, plunged him over his head in the icy water. The day had been a mild one, sunny and bright, for spring was in the air; but the water was still sufficiently cold to make such a sudden plunge any thing but pleasant, and this summary method of punishment, well deserved though most of the spectators knew it to be, was not to be tolerated in such a public place. So thought the policeman who now came running up, as the captain, having given his grandson three good dips, lifted him dripping and shivering from the basin, and placed him upon his feet.

“What’s this?” asked the officer, who had long since made his peace with the old man, who was wont to hang about the park, and in the vicinity of our house, and who amused him vastly with his comments upon men and things in the city. “What are you up to now, captain?”

“Givin’ this boy a duckin’; an’ if I told ye what for, I donno but ye’d be for takin’ of him up,” answered the captain, disregarding all considerations of parental or family pride. “If ye fin’ me a meaner one nor he is in this big town, I’ll duck him, too, an’ keep him under till he begs an’ swears he’ll mend his ways. Now, git along home, sir,” to the shaking Theodore. “I’d willin’ pay for two suits of clo’s to have the satisfaction of givin’ ye yer desarvins, though I don’t know as ye’ve got ’em yet. Git!”

Theodore, only too glad to obey, sped away like the wind; while the captain, as the policeman was about to interfere further, turned to the officer, and, taking him by the arm, as if he were going to arrest him, repeated in a friendly tone, “He’s had no more than his desarvin’s, young scamp; an’ them’s my opinions. I’ll tell ye.”

“But what are you about, ducking that boy in a public fountain?” asked the officer, doubtful what course to pursue with the old original. “Don’t you know such a thing is a breach of the public peace?”

“I don’t know nothin’ about your breaches,” said the old veteran, no whit disturbed; “but I knows I got a right to duck that boy where’er I’ve a min’ to. He’s my gran’son, more shame to me, an’ a little water ain’t goin’ to hurt him. His fam’ly’s used to water, good salt water, too,” with a contemptuous look at the fluid in the fountain basin, “an’ if I could wash the meanness outer him, I’d duck him a dozen times a day. Come along.”

And still with his hand upon the policeman’s arm, the captain turned away with him, soon satisfying the guardian of the peace that this was no case for arrest. Barney agreed that he had the right to take the law into his own hands, although this was hardly the place for him to do so.

Of course Theodore’s thefts, and the story of the grandfather’s summary punishment, went the rounds of the school the next morning, and it soon reached the ears of the teachers and principal; and Theodore was called up again before the latter, this time to receive a far sterner reprimand than had been bestowed upon Jim. As the offence had been committed out of school bounds and school hours, the punishment for it did not lie within the jurisdiction of Mr. Rollins; but, in addition to that which he had received from his grandfather, it was meted out to him on the school premises. From that time he acquired the sobriquet of “Peanuts,” a name which, short as it was, attracted far more derision and notice than that of Jim Grant Garfield Rutherford Livingstone Washington.

And Jim, for his silence before the principal, his heroic determination to “tell no tales,” was more of a favorite than ever.

Whether this tended to lessen Theodore’s animosity toward him, or to soften the standing feud between them, may be judged.

The contempt and dislike which the school generally entertained for Theodore were brought to their height, when the edict was promulgated that peanuts should be no longer brought within bounds. Being a forbidden fruit, they at once acquired a value and desirableness even beyond that which they had possessed before. By some unexplained process of reasoning, the authorities had arrived at the conclusion that they were the cause of the late disturbance; and so they were tabooed, much to the displeasure of the boys, who, beside the deprivation to themselves, considered Jim a victim, as the order, of necessity, in a measure lessened his sales.