“What you got to do, Freckles, is make some kind of a noble sacrifice. That's the way they always do in these here Lakeside Library books. Something that will touch her heart.” And they all agree her heart has got to be touched. But how? “Maybe,” says Squint, “it would touch her heart if the Dalton Gang was to march in in a body and offer to reform.” But Tom Mulligan says he wouldn't go _that_ far for any one. And after about a week the Dalton Gang lost its sympathy and commenced to guy Freckles and poke fun at him. And then there were fights--two or three every day. But gradually it got so that Freckles didn't seem to take any comfort or joy in a fight, and he lost spirits more and more. And pretty soon he began to get easy to lick. He got so awful easy to lick the Daltons got tired of licking him, and quit fighting him entirely. And then the worst happened. One day they served him notice that until he got his nerve back and fell out of love with Miss Jones again, he would not be considered a member of the Dalton Gang. But even that didn't jar him any--Freckles was plumb ruined. One day I heard the humans talking it over that the preacher had give in at last. Miss Jones's pa, and her uncle too, were both big church members, and he never really had a chance from the first. It was in the paper, the humans said, that they were engaged, and were to be married when school was out. Freckles, he poked away from the porch where the family was sitting when he heard that, and went to the barn and lay down on a pile of hay. I sat outside the barn, and I could hear him in there choking back what he was feeling. It made me feel right sore, too, and when the moon came up I couldn't keep from howling at it; for here was one of the finest kids you ever saw in there bellering like a girl, and all because of a no-account woman--a grown-up woman, mind you! I went in and lay down on the hay beside him, and licked his face, and nuzzled my head up under his armpit, to show him I'd stand by him anyhow. Pretty soon he went to sleep there, and after a long while his father came out and picked him up and carried him into the house to bed. He never waked up. The next day I happened by the schoolhouse along about recess-time. The boys were playing prisoner's base, and I'm pretty good at that game myself, so I joined in. When the bell rang, I slipped into Freckles's room behind the scholars, thinking I'd like a look at that Miss Jones myself. Well, she wasn't anything Yd go crazy over. When she saw me, there was the deuce to pay. “Whose dog is that?” she sings out. “Please, ma'am,” squeals a little girl, “that is Harold Watson's dog, Spot.” “Harold Watson,” says she to Freckles, “don't you know it's strictly against the rules to bring dogs to school?” “Yes'm,” says Freckles, getting red in the face. “Then why did you do it?” “I didn't, ma'am,” says he. “He's just come visitin' like.” “Harold,” says she, “don't be impudent. Step forward.”