Yells of greeting followed Jimsy's meteoric flight down the hillside. Everybody seemed to know and like him, and Jimsy, as ever, was noisily responsive. Yes, he was more a part of this village of Lindon than the first citizen himself standing aloof upon the hill-top, and the first citizen had spent his life in Lindon. Abner Sawyer felt hurt and alone. He had slipped in an unwary moment from his wound-proof armor of conscious superiority and in this world of friends outside it, there was more room for Jimsy than there was for him. Small comfort, after all, the solitude of greatness! [Illustration] The first citizen frowned impatiently. What was it all about, anyway, he wondered hopelessly. Did he want to be one of that yelling, shoving, jostling crowd? Surely not! His dignity rose in revolt at the very thought of it. Did he hunger for Jimsy's supreme gift of adaptability? Why should this fierce new hunger for one friendly, honest, heart-warming smile of liking and welcome gnaw at his heart?... Why--God help him!--why was he a stranger in his own town? [Illustration] "The world is all wrong," said Abner Sawyer, a little white; "I am not myself." And for a wild moment his sore heart flamed again at Jimsy's revolutionizing intrusion into the quiet smugness of his life. Jimsy's quick, eager little smile of greeting as he came up the hill again warmed the pang away--it was so full of good-fellowship and understanding. "Ever go belly-whopper, Uncle Ab?" he demanded radiantly. "I--I scarcely think so," said the first citizen. "I--I don't like to belly-whop down the hill with you standin' up here alone," said Jimsy shyly. "Why don't ye go down just once with me, Uncle Ab? Then if ye like it, we'll just have one thump-walloper of a time!" "No, no, Jimsy," said the first citizen. "I--I can't do that--" and then for the first time he met the amused eyes of Hiram Middleton and Specks. [Illustration] So they had followed to the hill--incredulous and curious! A wave of anger swept Abner Sawyer into indiscretion. "I--I'll go with you once, Jimsy," he said, and Jimsy's round little face glowed. So the first citizen seated himself stiffly on the sled behind Jimsy, wondering what on earth to do with his legs. They seemed to have lengthened mysteriously and they looked astonishingly thin. Jimsy gave a wild Indian whoop of warning and the sled hurtled off down the hill, with the first citizen, unbelievably stiff-legged and frightened, clinging to his hat. His emotions were panoramic. There was panic first at his lost dignity--then wonder at their speed, but most of all his legs bothered him--his legs and his hat. He wished Jimsy would quit yelling. Yet for all he tried he could not bring himself to say so.