“They said he just cried”--he swallowed nervously--“all the time in camp. They said they couldn’t do a thing with him.” “I know; I heard.” Julie knit faster. “They said everybody’d laugh at him from now on,” he continued. Julie raised her eyes and looked straight up at him. “_I_ never will,” she promised. He drew a free breath. He seemed to have been waiting for her to say this. “I didn’t b’lieve you would,” he said. “I never will,” she answered faithfully again, as though making a solemn compact with him. She saw his hands that clutched the back of the chair tremble slightly, and a faint hot moisture broke out upon his forehead. Then he stooped closer to her, daring all. “_She_ said--my wife said--that was just what I’d do in camp.” “You wouldn’t,” she cried sharply. “You wouldn’t! I know you wouldn’t.” “But--but I might,” he faltered, moistening his lips. “It’s--it’s just what I might do.” “You would _not_!” Julie repeated violently, clutching her knitting so tight that one of the bone needles snapped in two. “She said I would,” he persisted. “And then she went off to the show. I was all alone. I got to studyin’ about it. I thought--I thought--” “I know,” she interjected quickly. “I know, I understand how it is.” He moistened his lips once more, and tried again. “And--and I thought maybe she was right,” he got out at last. “She is not right. She isn’t!” “And everybody’s laughin’ at the Chapin boy--” “I’ll never laugh at him.” “An’ I thought--” He swallowed again. “I thought, ‘Maybe it’ll be _you_ they’ll all be laughin’ at next week.’” He paused a moment. “And--and now you know it all,” he ended. “I understand.” Julie’s eyes were suddenly full of tears, so that his strained face, gazing hungrily down at her, was blurred through them. “I know. I was sitting here thinking that, too. I was thinking, if I was a man maybe that was just what I’d do. Maybe I wouldn’t stand up against things any better than that Chapin boy.” “You? You thought that?” “Yes,” she nodded back at him. “Then you know,” he said, with a breath of relief. “I didn’t want any one to laugh at him,” he went on. “Don’t laugh,” he pleaded, as though now he were defending the Chapin boy to that cold outside world that had laughed. “Maybe he just couldn’t help it, the poor feller! Life’s mighty big for some folks--too big--bigger than a lot of us knows how to stand up against. You don’t know how hard he tried; folks don’t know how hard a person tries; but _you_ understand, Miss Rose?” He suddenly broke off, his eyes coming back to her face. “You understand, Miss Julie?” “Yes, I understand,” she answered faithfully. “An’ I know about life being so big.”