During intermission, there was an attempt made to organize a Sunday school. The boys and girls were seated in classes in the pews, and teachers were appointed from the older members of the church. There was a small Sunday-school library, consisting of quaint little books with marbled covers. Each of us was permitted to carry home one of these small volumes; and I recollect that my book that Sabbath was entitled _Herman's Repentance_. The Elder rode home with our folks to tea, and Theodora walked with us boys. There were six or eight others walking with us, the sons and daughters of neighbors, to whom Theodora kindly introduced me: Georgie and Elsie Wilbur, very pretty girls of about Ellen's age, also their brother Edgar, near my own age, and a large, awkward but smiling youngster, whose name was Henry Sylvester, whom the others called "Bub." An older boy of rather swaggering manners overtook us on our way, and began talking patronizingly to me, without an introduction. His name was Alfred Batchelder. We also overtook a boy named Willis Murch, who had stopped to sit, waiting for us, on a large rock beside the road. The Murch family lived a mile beyond the Old Squire's to the northwest. The quiet of the walk homeward was somewhat broken in upon, however, by a scuffle and some hard words betwixt Halstead and Alfred Batchelder. As we came near the great gate opening into our lane, Theodora walked up to the house with me, a little behind the others, and told me, confidentially--for my good, I suppose--that Alfred Batchelder was deemed a reckless chap whose character was not above reproach. I, on my part, seized the opportunity to proffer Halstead's petition for the loan of twenty-five cents. "I could lend it to him," she replied, "and so can Ellen, I think." But she seemed thoughtful, and by and by asked me to tell her all that Halstead had said. I did so, and added that he did not wish Addison to know about it. "I am sorry for that," she said, "for I should like to ask Ad's advice. But I suppose we had better not tell him, if Halse is unwilling." Later that evening she gave me the money, along with twenty-five cents from Ellen. I handed it to Halstead that night, a dollar and a quarter in all. He appeared much pleased. "Does Ad know it, or the old gent?" he asked me, and cried, "Good!" when I said they did not. He sat on the side of the bed and tossed up the five quarter pieces, catching them as they fell. "I know a way to get plenty of these fellers," he remarked to me at length. "What makes you borrow of the girls, then?" I asked. "O, you needn't be scared. I'll soon pay you all," he retorted. But I had begun to doubt that the money was to pay for a poor farmer's seed-corn. CHAPTER VIII "OLD THREE-LEGS"