"You did first rate, old boy!" said Brush, slapping Warren's back. "He'll never want to fight you again," added Lester. I helped Warren to put on his coat, then I looked around to see where Edwin was. I saw him standing before Jim, who was watching us with his wicked grin. They both spoke, but I could not hear them for the noise of the talk around me. Suddenly Edwin's long arm darted out, his fist came square on Jim's cheek with a resounding whack. Jim's face became livid, and the spot upon which the blow fell twitched convulsively. When the natural color returned to his face, Jim deliberately pulled off his coat; he was going to fight Edwin. It was an uneven match; Jim stood a head taller and was heavier than Edwin. "What's the matter?" asked Brush, as he came up; "what are you going to do?" "We're going to fight," replied Edwin; "I hit him because he made that trouble." "Jim," said Brush, stepping forward and rolling up his sleeves, "I don't think it would be unfair for two of us to fight you. You are bigger than any of us, so I am going to help Edwin to thrash you. You've been making mischief for others, now it's going to come to you." The boys gathered around the three to see another fight, but were disappointed. Jim made no further demonstration, but stood looking at the two boys; at last he muttered something to himself, and, picking up his coat, pushed his way out of the crowd. All the boys pointed their fingers at Jim, and shouted, "Ah, coward!" Jim turned his head and looked at them sulkily, but went on, and no one cared to follow him. Chapter VI Lester The hands of the little clock on Gray-beard's desk indicated the hour of two. The midsummer's sun hurled its rays with unrelenting force to the earth, and the wind, as though consenting to the attack, withheld its refreshing breezes. All the windows of our school-room were thrown wide open, and the hum of busy insects and the occasional cry of a bird were the only sounds that relieved the monotonous stillness outside. A class, with Warren at the head, was on the floor. The girl at the foot was reading in a tone that made it difficult to resist the drowsiness that attacked every one in the room. She came to a hard word, and, according to our custom, she spelled it. Gray-beard, who was sitting with eyes shut, pronounced it for her through a suppressed yawn. A few more words brought her to the end of the paragraph. A long pause followed; Warren stood with book uplifted, but was gazing intently on something outside. The teacher, recovering from an overbalancing nod, opened his eyes slowly, and lazily called, "Warren!" The boy did not stir. Brush and I looked up from our desk, and shuffled our feet to attract his attention. "Warren!" again called Gray-beard, in a louder tone. Still there was no response. Brush tore a fly-leaf out of his book, rolled it hastily into a ball, and threw it at Warren's head, but missed it.