He turned with increased fury upon this meddler, but his other wrist was caught and held in a vice-like grip. For a moment the two men looked into each other’s eyes. Hot words rose to the young man’s lips, but he choked them back. Until this moment he had deplored the possession of a spirit so easily fired that it had been a test of his manhood to keep from “slugging” on the football field; now he was glad of it. He did not attempt to strike the man, but stood holding his arms and meeting the brute glare with manly flashing eyes. Either the natural cowardice of the bully or something in his new opponent’s face had quelled the big fellow’s spirit, and he said doggedly: “Lemme go. I wasn’t a-go’n’ to kill him nohow, but ef I ketch him dancin’ with my gal anymo’, I’ll—” He cast a glance full of malice at his victim, who stood on the pavement a few feet away, as much amazed as the dumfounded crowd which thronged the door of “Sander’s Place.” Loosing his hold, the preacher turned, and, putting his hand on the young fellow’s shoulder, led him away. For a time they walked on in silence. Dokesbury had to calm the tempest in his breast before he could trust his voice. After a while he said: “That fellow was making it pretty hot for you, my young friend. What had you done to him?” “Nothin’,” replied the other. “I was jes’ dancin’ ’long an’ not thinkin’ ’bout him, when all of a sudden he hollered dat I had his gal an’ commenced hittin’ me.” “He’s a bully and a coward, or he would not have made use of his superior strength in that way. What’s your name, friend?” “’Lias Gray,” was the answer, which startled the minister into exclaiming,— “What! are you Aunt Caroline’s son?” “Yes, suh, I sho is; does you know my mothah?” “Why, I’m stopping with her, and we were talking about you last night. My name is Dokesbury, and I am to take charge of the church here.” “I thought mebbe you was a preachah, but I couldn’t scarcely believe it after I seen de way you held Sam an’ looked at him.” Dokesbury laughed, and his merriment seemed to make his companion feel better, for the sullen, abashed look left his face, and he laughed a little himself as he said: “I wasn’t a-pesterin’ Sam, but I tell you he pestered me mighty.” Dokesbury looked into the boy’s face,—he was hardly more than a boy,—lit up as it was by a smile, and concluded that Aunt Caroline was right. ’Lias might be ’ca’less,’ but he wasn’t a bad boy. The face was too open and the eyes too honest for that. ’Lias wasn’t bad; but environment does so much, and he would be if something were not done for him. Here, then, was work for a pastor’s hands. “You’ll walk on home with me, ’Lias, won’t you?” “I reckon I mout ez well,” replied the boy. “I don’t stay erroun’ home ez much ez I oughter.” “You’ll be around more, of course, now that I am there. It will be so much less lonesome for two young people than for one. Then, you can be a great help to me, too.”