Little Ikey Rosenstein, better known as “GooseGrease,” dressed in a cast-off suit of his big brother's, with his father's hat set rakishly back on his head and over his ears, was coming proudly down the street some distance off. “Yonder comes Goose-Grease Rosenstein,” said Jimmy gleefully. “When he gets right close le's make him hop.” “All right,” agreed Billy, his good humor restored, “le's baptize him good.” “Oh, we can't baptize him,” exclaimed the other little boy, “'cause he's a Jew and the Bible says not to baptize Jews. You got to mesmerize 'em. How come me to know so much?” he continued condescendingly, “Miss Cecilia teached me in the Sunday-School. Sometimes I know so much I I feel like I'm going to bust. She teached me 'bout 'Scuffle little chillens and forbid 'em not,' and 'bout 'Ananias telled Sapphira he done it with his little hatchet,' and 'bout 'Lijah jumped over the moon in a automobile: I know everything what's in the Bible. Miss Cecilia sure is a crackerjack; she's 'bout the stylishest Sunday-School teacher they is.” “'T was the cow jumped over the moon,” said Frances, “and it isn't in the Bible; it's in Mother Goose.” “And Elijah went to Heaven in a chariot of fire,” corrected Lina. “And I know all 'bout Gabr'el,” continued Jimmy unabashed. “When folks called him to blow his trumpet he was under the haystack fast asleep.” Ikey was quite near by this time to command the attention of the four children. “Let's mesmerize Goose-Grease,” yelled Jimmy, as he turned the stream of water full upon him. Frances, Lina, and Billy clapped their hands and laughed for joy. With a terrified and angry shriek their victim, dripping water at every step, ran howling by his tormentors. When he reached a safe distance he turned around, shook a fist at them, and screamed back: “My papa is going to have you all arrested and locked up in the calaboose.” “Calaboose, nothing!” jeered Jimmy. “You all time wanting to put somebody in the calaboose 'cause they mesmerize you. You got to be mesmerized 'cause it's in the Bible.” A short, stout man, dressed in neat black clothes, was coming toward them. “Oh, that's the Major!” screamed Billy delightedly, taking the hose and squaring himself to greet his friend of the train, but Jimmy jerked it out of his hand, before either of them noticed him turning about, as if for something forgotten. “You ain't got the sense of a one-eyed tadpole, Billy,” he said. “That's Miss Minerva's beau. He's been loving her more 'n a million years. My mama says he ain't never going to marry nobody a tall 'thout he can get Miss Minerva, and Miss Minerva she just turns up her nose at anything that wears pants. You better not sprinkle him. He's been to the war and got his big toe shot off. He kilt 'bout a million Injuns and Yankees and he's name' Major 'cause he's a Confed'rit vetrun. He went to the war when he ain't but fourteen.” “Did he have on long pants?” asked Billy. “I call him Major Minerva--”