“Here--what you doin’?” somebody called out, and a young man leaped the stone wall. “Hulloa, old Peters, you stop that!” Old Man Peters turned around. He would have dropped the stick, but the young man saved him the trouble by seizing it to break it into two pieces and toss them into the dusty road. “He’s ben a-sassin’ me,” cried the old man, pointing to David, who had sunk down on the grass by the side of the road, still hanging to the basket. “Well, you ain’t a-goin’ to beat up any boy in Badgertown. Now I tell you, Peters! And who wouldn’t sass you, I wonder. Here you, get up,” he said, going over to David. But David showing no inclination to get up, the man turned his face over. “Well, I’ll be blowed, ef tain’t one o’ th’ Pepper children,” he exclaimed, starting back. “You’ve got to take somethin’ from me, now I tell you, Old Man Peters!” He pushed up his gray cotton shirt-sleeves and advanced on the old man, “for beatin’ up one o’ Mis Pepper’s boys.” “You git away--tain’t nothin’ to you, Jim Thompson,” cried Mr. Peters, “an’ I’ll have th’ law on you, ef you tetch me!” He put up both horny hands and tried to huddle back of the scrub oak. “Th’ law’s got to deal with you, Old Peters, first, an’ it’ll fall pretty heavy for hurtin’ one o’ them Pepper children,” declared Thompson, dragging him by an angry hand back to the road side. “David--David Pepper!” screamed the old farmer, “you tell him. I ’ain’t hurt ye. Tell him, David. Ow! you let me be, Jim Thompson!” David looked up and tried to speak. Oh, if Mamsie were only here! Then his head fell down on the dusty road. “Look at that boy, you old scoundrel!” roared Thompson, cuffing Old Man Peters wherever he got a good chance. Then he flung him to the middle of the road. “Lie there till I can ’tend to you.” But the old farmer preferred to attend to himself, and without waiting to pick up his hat that had fallen off in the scuffle, he slunk off as fast as he conveniently could. “Don’t hurt him,” begged Davie feebly, as Thompson bent over him. “Oh, I want Mamsie!” “You’re a-goin’ to her--I’ll take you.” The young man lifted him up to his shoulder, Davie still clinging to the basket. “Where did he hurt you?” he asked anxiously. “I’m not hurt much,” said Davie, trying not to cry. Jim Thompson set his teeth hard. “Here, give me that basket,” and holding Davie fast by one arm, he strode off, first kicking Old Man Peters’s hat into a neighboring field where it landed in a bog. “Mamsie--somebody’s coming, and he’s got a big bundle--how funny,” cried Polly, looking out of the window. “A pedlar, most likely,” said Mrs. Pepper, over in the window, trying to finish a coat to go back to Mr. Atkins at the store. The measles were making it extra hard to keep the wolf from the door. “Well, he won’t sell anything here,” said Polly with a laugh, and running to the old green door. “Why--” as she flung it open.