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Billy read the note several times. He knew that Jimmy meant much more than the words said; it was his offer of the “olive branch.” And Billy, thinking over that miserable afternoon, wondered again how it had been possible for him to feel such murderous hate for anything living. And for Jimmy! His mate at school, in play! The picture came to him of Jackson crying, of Vilette,—yes, it was not strange he had been angry. But it was not his duty to punish; even if it had been, he knew he had forgotten Jackson and Vilette, forgotten everything except the rage of the fight. Why was it? Older heads than Billy’s have asked in sorrow that same question after the madness of some angry deed has passed to leave in its wake sleepless remorse. “No, Mosey, I must hurry and get some flowers fer school to-day.” “Jimmy, can you stand?”.

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“What has happened to you, Billy?” his mother questioned sharply as she turned at his voice and saw his damaged head. “You’re hurt, Billy!” “Only for a day, dear. I’ll be back to-night.” Moses blushed deeply and dared not raise his eyes from the ground lest Isobel should see his embarrassment. “I am not going to let you see any more compositions,” exclaimed Nell, “You are just making fun of my poor children.”.