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"He is?" Billy respected the new boy for the nonchalance of his tones. Riches hadn't made him stuck up, at any rate. "Ho, Bill!" cried Maurice. "Bringin' bay Thomas up to the stable fer winter, eh? Gee! Jim, look at that horse; did you ever see such a change in anythin' in your life?" Billy moved forward, halting a safe distance from his mother. "You'll remember, Ma, that Anse's pants has two hip pockets, an mine only one.".

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He paused to survey the rows of uplifted faces and let his words sink home. Then lifting a long hickory pointer from his desk, and holding it much as a conjuror might hold his wand, he gripped the edge of the desk with one bony hand and leaning forward, said: Billy turned. "I didn't say I ate Anson's pie an' cake, Ma," he said gently. "I didn't take it 'cause I wanted it." Then, just as he drew near to the edge of the grove, he caught his breath in terror and the cold sweat leaped out on his fear-blanched face. Drifting directly toward him white as driven snow, came the ghost. It was bearing straight down upon him! His knees grew weak, refused to hold him, and he sagged weakly against a tree. He closed his eyes and waited for the end. "Oh, he's been raisin' high jinks with Ma ag'in," explained Billy. "He will get his claws full o' dirt an' pigeon-toe along her line of clean clothes, as soon as her back's turned.".