Said Mr. Sikes: “Don’t you think we’d better go in there and rescue him while there’s time to—” “Not a bit of it,” protested Mr. Link. “Let him take his medicine.” “Who are you talking about?” “Oliver October. Who did you think I was talking about?” “Arthur Elwell, of course. That boy’s got a knife. I gave it to him last Christmas—darn my fool soul! Chances are he’ll stick it into Arthur—” “Listen!” hissed Mr. Link. A series of sharp, staccato howls in the shrill voice of a boy came from the interior of the school-house. “That don’t sound much like Oliver was sticking a knife into anybody, does it?” “But the way he kicked Arthur on the shin,” began Mr. Sikes forcibly. “Why, that boy’s got murder in his heart, Silas. And the way he fought that Parr boy. Gee whiz! He’s got a lot of hell in him and it’s just beginning to break loose. I tell you, Silas, that gypsy was right. No use trying to laugh it off. Now maybe you and Reverend Sage will pay some attention to me. I’ve been saying for two or three years we ought to take that boy in hand and train him to keep—” “Why, darn it, ain’t we been training him since he first began to walk? Ain’t we been making him go to Sunday-school, and—” “Yes, but we never told him to fight or kick his teacher, did we?” “Certainly _not_.” “Well, he’s doing it, ain’t he? Going to Sunday-school ain’t helped him a damn’ bit. I said it wouldn’t. It’s been a waste of money, that’s what it’s been.” “Waste of—how do you make that out? Sunday-school’s free, ain’t it?” “Every Sunday for the last five years,” proceeded Mr. Sikes, “I’ve been giving that boy a nickel to put in the collection box—and here he is, behaving as bad as any boy in town. I—Gee whiz! Listen to him yell! Say, we’d ought to go in there and put a stop to that dodgasted idiot. He’ll kill the poor boy.” The wails indoors ceased abruptly, but, to the astonishment of the highly exercised pair, they were taken up almost directly under their noses. That is to say, their attention was drawn for the first time to the little six-year-old girl, whose heart-rending squeals were now piercing the silence that followed the awful uproar in which Oliver October had been taking part. “Hello!” cried Mr. Sikes. “What are _you_ crying about, Janie?” “You ain’t been spanked,” supplemented Mr. Link. He reached over the fence and put his hands under the arms of the weeping child. Lifting her over, he held her close to his expansive breast. She buried her face on his shoulder and sobbed. “There, there, now,” he whispered soothingly. “Your Uncle Silas won’t let anybody hurt you.” “Your Uncle Joe will just everlastingly slaughter anybody that touches you,” added Mr. Sikes fiercely.