As this was an eventful evening in the fortunes of the colonists of Break o’ Day, and it is best to keep as square a front as is possible with the date, it seems necessary to record at this time a peculiar incident which befell another member of the party. If not as serious a situation as that of Little Hickory’s, it held enough of horror and terror to satisfy at least the participant. Larry Little, upon finding that Rob was his master in the athletic trial, quietly accepted the situation and became a loyal follower of him whom he could not lead. Some are born to be rulers, it would seem, while others must content to be followers. It is needless to say that the latter class is quite as essential and fully as creditable as the former. Larry had gone to work for a Mr. Howlitt on a farm just out of the village, and did not return to his home at night, as Rob did. If he found farm work pretty hard at first, and he blistered his hands, went to bed at night with an aching back, to feel tired and sleepy in the morning, he did not murmur very loud. He had taken hold in earnest, resolved to make the most of it. Mr. Howlitt was a well-to-do farmer, having one other hand to help him besides Larry. He had no boys of his own, but this deficit was more than made up, as Larry soon came to think, by having one of the most charming daughters in the world. Lucy Howlitt was an exceedingly pretty girl, in her seventeenth year, and, what was better, a very sensible one. If Larry had felt a deep yearning for Joe Willet longer than he could remember, this affection was transferred inside of two weeks to Lucy Howlitt, and he was happy. That is, Larry would have been happy if he had been sure he was the one favored by her. Unfortunately for his peace of mind, he had a rival. What seemed to be worse for him, this aspirant for the very smiles and friendship that he coveted was an audacious, educated, quick-witted, well-dressed youth, who was the son of a rich man, and who was at that time studying law with the purpose of practicing that profession. But, with all this in his favor, he was an arrant coxcomb, and a favorite with only a small circle of acquaintances. His name was Pluto Alexander Snyder, as he invariably signed it, giving a sort of double twist to the S and an unmeaning curl underneath the whole signature. Larry sized him up as a snob, but trembled in the fear that he was likely to lose in the race against such a competitor. To add to his discomfiture, Pluto Snyder, who was at least three years older than Larry, was raising a mustache, though he had not yet succeeded in coaxing a growth of over half a dozen hairs under each nostril. As these were of a very light color they did not make a very strong impression.