"Who gave it to you?" "My mother." "It wasn't hers to give." "You'll find that the whole property belongs to her. Your father left her everything, and she has given the horse to me. Just stand aside there; I'm going to ride." John Oakley's face flushed with anger, and his eyes flashed. He was a boy of fifteen, not tall, but stout and well-proportioned, and stronger than most boys of his age and size, his strength having been developed by rowing on the river, and playing ball, in both of which he was proficient. Ben Brayton was a year and a half older, and half a head taller; but he was of a slender figure, and, having no taste for vigorous out-of-door amusements, he was not a match in strength for the younger boy. They were not related by blood, but both belonged to the same family, Ben Brayton's mother having three years since married Squire Oakley, with whom she had lived for a year previous as house-keeper. A week since the squire had died, and when, after the funeral, the will had been read, it was a matter of general astonishment that John, the testator's only son, was left entirely unprovided for, while the entire property was left to Mrs. Oakley. John, who was of course present at the reading of the will, was considerably disturbed at his disinheritance; not because he cared for the money so much as because it seemed as if his father had slighted him. Not a word, however, had passed between him and his father's widow on the subject, and things had gone on pretty much as usual, until the day on which our story commences. John had just returned from the village academy, where he was at the head of a class preparing for college, when he saw Ben Brayton, the son of Mrs. Oakley by a former marriage preparing to ride out on a horse which for a year past had been understood to be his exclusive property. Indignant at this, he commenced the conversation recorded at the beginning of this chapter. "Stand aside there, John Oakley, or I'll ride over you!" "Will you, though?" said John, seizing the horse by the bridle. "That's easier said than done." Ben Brayton struck the horse sharply, hoping that John would be frightened and let go; but our hero clung to the bridle, and the horse began to back. "Let go, I tell you!" exclaimed Ben. "I won't!" said John, sturdily. The horse continued to back, until Ben, who was a coward at heart, becoming alarmed, slid off from his back. "That's right," said John, coolly. "Another time you'd better not meddle with my horse." "I'll meddle with you, and teach you better manners!" exclaimed Ben, a red spot glowing in each of his pale cheeks. As he spoke, he struck John smartly over the shoulders with the small riding-whip he carried.