“Calm yourself, Brother Baxter,” admonished the parson gently. “As I was saying before, I do not agree with Joe and Silas. They are making a mountain out of a mole hill. The boy is all right. He is high-spirited, he is mischievous—as all boys are if they’re any good at all—and he is not a coward. Of course, it would be most reprehensible—er—and quite unpardonable in me if I were to say that I approve of fighting, but when I look back upon my own boyhood and recall the—er—rather barbarous joy I took in bloodying some other boy’s nose, I—ahem!—well, I believe I can understand why Oliver October preferred to stand up and fight rather than run away. Ahem! Yes, in spite of my calling, I think I can understand that in any real boy.” Mr. Baxter’s face lengthened. “Oh, Lordy! Has Oliver been fighting?” “Like a wildcat,” said Mr. Sikes sententiously. “Everybody in town knows about it. Everybody but you, I mean.” The father groaned. “I thought he looked as if he’d done something he’d oughtn’t—Oh, for goodness’ sake, don’t tell me he used a knife or—” “Nothing but his fists, my dear Baxter—from all reports. I did not witness the—” “How about the hide he peeled off of Arthur Elwell’s shin?” demanded Mr. Sikes. “He didn’t do that with his fists, did he? Why, I’ve knowed blood poisoning to set in on a feller’s shin bone from a scratch you couldn’t hardly see. It’s almost sure to happen if you wear green socks like Arthur does. The dye or something gets into the—” “Jeemes’s River! Has that fool boy been trying to lick Arthur Elwell?” gasped Mr. Baxter, blinking rapidly. “Ain’t he got any more sense than to tackle a six-foot man like—” “It seems that Oliver, in his rage, kicked Mr. Elwell after he had separated—er—that is, when he took him in hand for fighting in the playground after school,” said Mr. Sage. “That is something that frequently happens to peacemakers, Joseph.” “The thing is,” said Mr. Link, “we got to do something about Oliver October’s temper. We got to make him realize the awfulness of being hung by the neck—” “Justly or unjustly,” put in Mr. Sikes. “Absolutely,” accepted Mr. Link. “The time has come when we got to head that boy into the right path by telling him what the gypsy woman said.” “I must repeat—as I have repeated times without end—that I think it would be the height of cruelty to tell the child any of that nonsense,” protested Mr. Sage, rather vigorously for him. “Why, when I think of little Oliver lying awake nights picturing himself on the gallows—”