“Is that so?” I demanded hotly. “Maybe you know my Aunt Lucy’s shape better’n me!” This stranger asked me to believe he had iron circulating in his system and yet doubted that mere bones could follow suit. It was true that Aunt Lucy’s irresponsible ribs had given me much perplexity as to just where they floated, or where they would go if they suddenly lost their buoyancy and sank. Still, I knew my claim had a basis in fact. I had overheard too many first-hand testimonials of her abstruse condition from the fearfully and wonderfully unjointed lady herself. Before I could conjure up more human freaks, however, related to me by facetious Nature, with a diplomacy which has always been charming, young Nathan Forge introduced a new subject. “We just moved to Brown’s place last month from Gilberts Mills,” he declared. “And we got five bedrooms and a vegetable cellar and cockroaches an’ everything. An’ I got a dog named Ned that don’t get sick when he catches skunks. He caught seven one autumn and brung ’em to me. But one wasn’t shook quite dead yet, and I had to stay in bed a week while they buried my clothes. Pa wanted to bury me, too, but Ma wouldn’t stand for it!” “That’s nothin’,” I countered. “We gotta cat at our house named Apron-strings ’cause she’s always behind you when you turn ’round. An’ all you gotta do to make her have kittens is _watch her_! My father says, ‘Look twice at that dratted little beast and she has young all over the place’ He’s goin’ to dig a special well to drown ’em in when he gets time. He said so.” “We got two wells over to our house already,” Nat retorted,—“one to drink from and one to fish things out of. Campbell’s pants is down the last one.” “Campbell’s pants!” “My father said so. Lawyer Campbell come over the day we moved in, to see about the hay. He’d bought some new pants to the Center and had ’em in a bundle. On the way home he missed ’em. When Pa heard, he says to Ma: ‘He might look down that well in the south lot! I’ve fished everything out of it but money!’ he says. ‘Bet I could find Campbell’s pants if I fished long enough.’” Evidently the Forges occupied exceptionally interesting premises. I congratulated myself that I had been discreet about punching Nat’s jaw. I would cultivate this new boy. Not once during all this, however, had we looked each other straight in the eye. That is another unethical thing between boys of eight. We went through gyrations with hands, legs, elastic torsos. We kicked at stones in the sand. We pried them loose and threw them. But our faces were always averted. “Got any brothers or sisters?” I finally demanded. “Yeah. I gotta sister.” “Pshaw! How old?” “Four. But she ain’t no good—only to tag ’round and squeal to Ma when I skip my chores.” “Sure. I know. Girls always spoil everything. Ain’t it awful?” “Awful’s no name for it,” agreed Nathan. II