“You must keep out of fights whenever you can, but if the time comes when you _must_ fight—do it as well as you know how and pray about it afterwards. When your enemy smites you, turn the other cheek like a good Christian boy—but do not let him hit your other cheek if you can help it. Defend yourself. Put up your props, as your Uncle Joe says, and sail into him. You will thus be turning the other cheek, but it does not mean that he may smite it without resistance on your part. The Bible doesn’t seem to be very clear on that point, so I am taking the liberty of telling you just what I think _ought_ to be done when an enemy besets you with his fists. You must not fight if you can help it, Oliver. A soft answer turneth away wrath. Sometimes. When I was your age, I had a good many fights—and you see what I am to-day. A minister of the gospel. If I had an enemy to-day and he was to set upon me, I should defend myself to the best of my strength and ability. Your Uncle Joe and your Uncle Silas are right, however, in counseling you to avoid conflict. No good ever comes of it. As you grow older you will acquire wisdom, and wisdom is a very great thing, Oliver. A wise man does not go about seeking for trouble. He tries to avoid it. And so will you when you are older. But just at present you are no wiser than other boys of your age. You were very foolish to fight with Sammy to-day because Jane egged you on. It is most commendable, of course, to protect a lady in distress. But Jane was not in distress. She did not need protection. Sometimes a woman—But never mind. You understand what I mean, don’t you, Oliver?” “No, sir,” said the truthful Oliver. “Well, what I want you to do, Oliver, is to go on leading a—er—regular boy’s life. Do the things that are right and square, be honest and fearless—and no harm will ever come to you. Now, turn over and go to sleep, there’s a good boy. I will put out the light for you. Don’t lie awake worrying about things—because there is nothing to worry about. Good night, Oliver. I have a very great affection for you, my lad, and, so long as God lets me live, I will always help you when—er—evil besets you. As it did to-night.” He smiled dryly, perhaps a little guiltily, as he turned away and lowered the wick in the lamp that stood on the table near by. “Don’t blow it out yet, please,” pleaded Oliver October. “I want to ast you a question.” “Go ahead, my lad. What is it?” said the man, peering over the lamp chimney, at the boy huddled up in the bed. “If you was me, would you take boxing lessons from Uncle Joe?” Mr. Sage considered, weighing his words. A little wave of color spread over his pale, ascetic face, and a queer light gleamed in his kindly eye.