“No, I am in earnest. The young rascal attacked poor Andrew with a hoe and nearly killed him.” “Then he must be crazy!” ejaculated Mr. Badger. “Where is Andrew? I want his account of it. If it is as you say, the boy shall suffer.” CHAPTER XXVIII THE VICTIM OF TYRANNY Andrew Jackson made his appearance with a piece of brown paper over an imaginary bruise on his head and eye and the carefully assumed expression of a suffering victim. “What is this I hear?” asked his father. “Have you had a difficulty with Bill?” “Yes,” answered Andrew in the tone of a martyr. “He knocked me down with a hoe, and if mother had not come out just as she did I think he would have killed me.” “What made him attack you?” asked Mr. Badger, exceedingly surprised. “I asked him if he would dig some fish-worms for me.” “Couldn’t you dig some yourself?” “I s’pose I could, but he knew better than I where to find them.” “What next?” “He said he wouldn’t. I told him that I would tell you about his impertinence. Then he hit me with the hoe as hard as he could.” “Was that all that passed?” “Yes.” “I don’t quite understand it. You are surely stronger than Bill. How did it happen that you allowed him to strike you?” “He had a hoe and I hadn’t anything,” answered Andrew meekly. “He was so furious that he wouldn’t have made anything of killing me.” “I always thought he was rather mild and milk-and-watery,” said Nathan Badger thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t have thought so if you’d seen him, Mr. Badger,” said his wife, drawing upon her imagination. “He looked like a young fiend. Dear Andrew is right. The boy is positively dangerous! I don’t know but we shall be murdered in our beds some night if we let him go on this way.” Mr. Badger shrugged his shoulders, for he was not quite a fool, and answered dryly: “That thought won’t keep me awake. He isn’t that kind of a boy.” “Oh, well, Mr. Badger, if you are going to take his part against your own flesh and blood, I’ve got no more to say.” “Who’s taking his part?” retorted Mr. Badger sharply. “I’m not going to uphold him in attacking Andrew, but I’m rather surprised at his mustering spunk enough to do it. As for his doing us any harm, that’s all nonsense.” “You may change your mind when it’s too late, Mr. Badger.” “Are you afraid of him?” asked her husband contemptuously as he regarded the tall, muscular figure of his wife, who probably would have been a match for himself in physical strength. “I can defend myself if I am awake,” said Mrs. Badger. “But what’s to hinder his attacking me when I’m asleep?” “You can fasten your door if you are afraid. But that isn’t my trouble with him. There’s something more serious, Mrs. B.” “What is it? What’s he been doin’?” “It isn’t he. It’s Charles Waldo. I’m free to say that Mr. Waldo is the meanest man I ever had dealings with. You know I wrote to him to see if he wouldn’t allow me something extra toward the boy’s keep.” “Yes.”