“A girl in an express wagon chasing a ball?” Tom laughed. “I never notice girls in express wagons chasing balls when I’m driving.” “Well,” said Arden, “a boy in a gray suit who was eating a piece of pie or something—do you know him?” Tom shook his head. “I know so many boys that eat pie,” said he. “He took the little girl’s ball just to tease her,” said Arden. “There was a whole crowd of boys and I suppose he wanted to show off. I was sitting right here on the porch. This is just what happened. Wilfred ran after him to make him give up the ball. Just as he reached him the boy—_ugh_, he’s just a _bully_—the boy threw the ball away——” “Good,” said Tom. “He knew he’d have to give it up,” said Wilfred weakly. “I bet he did,” said Tom cheerily. “Hush, dear,” said Mrs. Cowell to her son. “Just as he threw the ball,” said Arden, “he raised his arm in a sort of threat at Wilfred.” “But he gave up the ball,” laughed Tom. “Yes, but Wilfred turned and went after the ball——” “Naturally,” said Tom. “And all those boys thought the reason he turned and ran was because he was _afraid_—afraid that coward and bully was going to hit him. Ugh! I just wish Wilfred _had_ pommeled him.” Tom laughed, for “pommel” is the word a girl uses when referring to pugilistic exploits. “Just then he reeled and fell in a dead faint,” said Mrs. Cowell. “Mr. Atwell, our neighbor, brought him in here unconscious. I don’t know what it can be,” she sighed; “we’re waiting for the doctor now. It does seem as if he’d never come.” Tom looked sober. Wilfred rocked his head from side to side smiling at Tom, a touching smile, as he caught his eye. The clock ticked away sounding like a trip-hammer in the silence of the room. The mother held the boy’s hand, watching him apprehensively. The little express wagon rattled past outside. The muffled hum of the lawn-mower could be heard in the distance. And somehow these sounds without seemed to harmonize with this drowsy mid-day of early summer. Tom hardly knew what to say so he said in his cheery way, “Well, you made him give up the ball anyway, didn’t you, Billy?” “That’s all I wanted,” Wilfred said. “He would have got it no matter what,” said Arden. “I bet he would,” Tom laughed. It was rather amusing to see how deeply concerned the mother was about the boy’s condition (which manifestly was improving) and how the girl’s predominant concern was for her brother’s courage and honor. “They just stood there—all of them,” she said with a tremor in her voice, “calling him _coward_ and _sissy_.” “But he got what he went after,” said Tom. “Do you believe in fighting, Mr.—Tom?” “Not when you can get what you want without it,” said Tom. “If I went after a rubber ball, or a gum-drop, or a crust of stale bread or a hunk of stone, I’d get it. I wouldn’t knock down any boys——” “Of course you wouldn’t,” said Mrs. Cowell. “Unless I had to,” said Tom. “Oh, I think you’re just splendid,” said Arden.