“Hold on!” said Hale, jumping between them. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” he said to the mountain boy. “I wasn't atter the gal,” he said indignantly. “I was comin' fer him.” The boy with the cap tried to get away from Hale's grasp. “No use, sir,” he said coolly. “You'd better let us settle it now. We'll have to do it some time. I know the breed. He'll fight all right and there's no use puttin' it off. It's got to come.” “You bet it's got to come,” said the mountain lad. “You can't call my brother names.” “Well, he IS a skate,” said the boy with the cap, with no heat at all in spite of his indignation, and Hale wondered at his aged calm. “Every one of you little tads,” he went on coolly, waving his hand at the gathered group, “is a skate who teases this little girl. And you older boys are skates for letting the little ones do it, the whole pack of you--and I'm going to spank any little tadpole who does it hereafter, and I'm going to punch the head off any big one who allows it. It's got to stop NOW!” And as Hale dragged him off he added to the mountain boy, “and I'm going to begin with you whenever you say the word.” Hale was laughing now. “You don't seem to understand,” he said, “this is my affair.” “I beg your pardon, sir, I don't understand.” “Why, I'm taking care of this little girl.” “Oh, well, you see I didn't know that. I've only been here two days. But”--his frank, generous face broke into a winning smile--“you don't go to school. You'll let me watch out for her there?” “Sure! I'll be very grateful.” “Not at all, sir--not at all. It was a great pleasure and I think I'll have lots of fun.” He looked at June, whose grateful eyes had hardly left his face. “So don't you soil your little fist any more with any of 'em, but just tell me--er--er--” “June,” she said, and a shy smile came through her tears. “June,” he finished with a boyish laugh. “Good-by sir.” “You haven't told me your name.” “I suppose you know my brothers, sir, the Berkleys.” “I should say so,” and Hale held out his hand. “You're Bob?” “Yes, sir.” “I knew you were coming, and I'm mighty glad to see you. I hope you and June will be good friends and I'll be very glad to have you watch over her when I'm away.” “I'd like nothing better, sir,” he said cheerfully, and quite impersonally as far as June was concerned. Then his eyes lighted up. “My brothers don't seem to want me to join the Police Guard. Won't you say a word for me?” “I certainly will.” “Thank you, sir.” That “sir” no longer bothered Hale. At first he had thought it a mark of respect to his superior age, and he was not particularly pleased, but when he knew now that the lad was another son of the old gentleman whom he saw riding up the valley every morning on a gray horse, with several dogs trailing after him--he knew the word was merely a family characteristic of old-fashioned courtesy. “Isn't he nice, June?” “Yes,” she said. “Have you missed me, June?”