When Jason and Keats came up from the wash-house to-night in their fresh gowns, looking startlingly clean, (I let them bathe together because Keats is so kind-hearted, and carries the water from kettles to tubs for Jason, and even washes his back for him) I handed Keats a pair of scissors. "Do you mind cutting Jason's toe-nails?" I asked; "I notice that they are dreadfully long." To my utter confounding, Jason threw himself on the floor, kicking and beating it violently and letting out terrific yells. "Why, it won't hurt you, dear," I said, "or, if you fear Keats will, I will gladly do it myself." The howls and yells increased if possible. "He haint afeared of being hurt," said Keats; "he just don't aim to part with them toe-nails." "Why?" I inquired. "He needs 'em in his business. He fights with 'em. I found it out when him and Hen fit a-Tuesday. He tried it on me, the feisty little skunk! That's the way he lays out the day-schools five-at-a-time. He jobs out the eyes of two with his thumbs, and bites and butts another, and rakes the shins of two more with his toe-nails, and whups out five as easy as falling off a log!" "They certainly must come off then," I declared sternly. "You hold one leg, and Killis one, and Philip and Taulbee his arms and head, and I'll cut them off!" And thus surprised of his secret, and bound by the Philistines, my little Samson was shorn. _Saturday Afternoon._ Before breakfast I called Iry into my room. "How much muscle have you got?" I inquired. The "pure scholar" bared a small, skeleton arm, on which a creditable knot of muscle rose as he flexed it. "You are really a pretty good fighter, aren't you?" I asked. "Paw he'd knock me in the head if I weren't." "Very well. I told you once not to fight Jason Wyatt. I may have been wrong in doing so. Next time he picks on you, fight him back." Just before noon, Nucky ran into the cottage with bulging eyes. "That 'ere little Iry is a-giving Jason the best whupping down in the stable-lot ever you seed. Jason he got to feisting around him ag'in, and he just grabbed him unexpected, and laid him out, and now he's choking the life out of him!" [Illustration: "'That 'ere little Iry is a-giving Jason the best whupping down in the stable-lot ever you seed.'"] "Good!" I cried, hurrying back to see the combat. All the boys were miraculously gathered, and the wash-girls also looked on with delight. Jason tried all his tricks, but could not once free himself from the relentless grasp. Both arms were pinioned, one by a leg, one by an arm of Iry's, his head was held down by the dreadful hand at his throat; only his legs were free, and they alas, were useless,--his toes passed harmlessly over Iry's face and neck and ears! Not until he had held out to the verge of suffocation did the conquered conqueror at last gasp for mercy, and being let up, crawl off under the corncrib to sob out his rage and shame in peace. Doubtless this will do him much good. XIII