The boy gave him a slight slap on the cheek. It could not have hurt, but the indignity, of course, was great. No boy of honour, according to our code, could have accepted it without retaliating. “Is that all?” asked Dan. “That's all--for the present,” replied the boy with the basket. “Good-bye,” said Dan, and walked on. “Glad he didn't insist on fighting,” remarked Dan, cheerfully, as we proceeded; “I'm going to a party tonight.” Yet on another occasion, in a street off Lisson Grove, he insisted on fighting a young rough half again his own weight, who, brushing up against him, had knocked his hat off into the mud. “I wouldn't have said anything about his knocking it off,” explained Dan afterwards, tenderly brushing the poor bruised thing with his coat sleeve, “if he hadn't kicked it.” On another occasion I remember, three or four of us, Dan among the number, were on our way one broiling summer's afternoon to Hadley Woods. As we turned off from the highroad just beyond Barnet and struck into the fields, Dan drew from his pocket an enormous juicy-looking pear. “Where did you get that from?” inquired one, Dudley. “From that big greengrocer's opposite Barnet Church,” answered Dan. “Have a bit?” “You told me you hadn't any more money,” retorted Dudley, in reproachful tones. “No more I had,” replied Dan, holding out a tempting slice at the end of his pocket-knife. “You must have had some, or you couldn't have bought that pear,” argued Dudley, accepting. “Didn't buy it.” “Do you mean to say you stole it?” “Yes.” “You're a thief,” denounced Dudley, wiping his mouth and throwing away a pip. “I know it. So are you.” “No, I'm not.” “What's the good of talking nonsense. You robbed an orchard only last Wednesday at Mill Hill, and gave yourself the stomach-ache.” “That isn't stealing.” “What is it?” “It isn't the same thing.” “What's the difference?” And nothing could make Dan comprehend the difference. “Stealing is stealing,” he would have it, “whether you take it off a tree or out of a basket. You're a thief, Dudley; so am I. Anybody else say a piece?” The thermometer was at that point where morals become slack. We all had a piece; but we were all of us shocked at Dan, and told him so. It did not agitate him in the least. To Dan I could speak my inmost thoughts, knowing he would understand me, and sometimes from him I received assistance and sometimes confusion. The yearly examination was approaching. My father and mother said nothing, but I knew how anxiously each of them awaited the result; my father, to see how much I had accomplished; my mother, how much I had endeavoured. I had worked hard, but was doubtful, knowing that prizes depend less upon what you know than upon what you can make others believe you know; which applies to prizes beyond those of school. “Are you going in for anything, Dan?” I asked him. We were discussing the subject, crossing Primrose Hill, one bright June morning.