“I don’t feel very well, Dick.” “You ought not to be at work. Have you had dinner?” “I am not to have any.” “Why not?” asked Dick, opening his eyes. “I knew old Badger was mean, but I didn’t think he was mean enough for that!” “It’s a punishment,” Bill explained. “What for?” “For hitting Andrew Jackson with a hoe and knocking him down.” “Did you do that, Bill?” exclaimed Dick in great delight, for he disliked Mr. Badger’s petted heir. “I didn’t think it was in you! Shake hands, old fellow, and tell me all about it.” “I am afraid it was wicked, Dick, but I couldn’t help it. I must have hurt him, for he screamed very loud.” “Better and better! I know how he treats you, Bill, and I tell you it’ll do him good--the young tyrant! But you haven’t told me about it.” Bill told the story, to which Dick listened with earnest attention. He expressed hearty approval of Bill’s course and declared that he would have done the same. “So you are in disgrace,” he said. “Never mind. Bill. It’ll all come out right. It is worth something to have punished that young bully. But what’s the matter, Bill? What makes you so pale?” “I think it’s going without my dinner. The hard work makes me hungry.” “Just wait a minute. I’ll be back in a jiffy!” Dick was off like a shot. When he returned he brought with him two slices of bread and butter, a slice of cold meat and two apples. “Eat ’em, Bill,” he said. “They’ll make you feel better.” “Oh, Dick! I didn’t want to trouble you so much.” “It was no trouble, old fellow.” “What will your mother say to your taking all this?” “She’ll be glad of it. She isn’t so mean as Mrs. Badger. I say, Bill, you must come over and take supper with us some time. There’s plenty to eat at our house.” “I should like to, Dick, if Mr. Badger would let me.” “Don’t talk any more till you have eaten what I brought you.” Bill obeyed his friend’s directions, and, to Dick’s great satisfaction, ate all that had been brought him with evident appetite. “I feel a good deal better,” he said as he took the hoe once more and set to work. “I feel strong now.” “It’s lucky I came along. I say. Bill, is that your only punishment?” A shadow came over Bill’s face. “I am to be flogged this evening,” he said. “Mr. Badger told me so, and he always keeps his word.” Dick set his teeth and clinched his fists. “I’d like to flog old Badger,” he said energetically. “Are you going to stand it?” “I can’t help it, Dick.” “I’d help it!” said his friend, nodding emphatically. Bill shook his head despondently. The whipping seemed to him inevitable, and there seemed to be no way of avoiding it. “What time do you expect he will whip you--the old brute?” asked Dick. “He waits till nine o’clock, just after I have gone to bed.” “Then will you follow my advice?” “What is it?” Dick whispered in Bill’s ear the plan he had in view. There was no need to whisper, but he did it to show that the communication was confidential. This was the plan: