up a screeching and fell all together, and the school-master came out of his door.
'Boys, boys!' said he. 'And the Sabbath too!'
As this did not immediately affect them, Mr. Eastman made a charge, and they fled from him then. A long stocking of Josey's was torn, and hung in two streamers round his ankles; and his dangling shoe-laces were trodden to fringe.
'If you want your hand to get well for strawberry night—' began Mr. Eastman.
'Ah, bother strawberry night!' said Josey, and hopped at one of his playmates. But Mr. Eastman caught him skilfully by the collar.
'I am glad his misfortunes have not crushed him altogether,' said I.
'Josey Yeatts is an anxious case, sir,' returned the teacher. 'Several influences threaten his welfare. Yesterday I found tobacco on him. Chewing, sir.'
'Just you hurt me,' said Josey, 'and I'll tell Abe.'
'Abe!' exclaimed Mr. Eastman, lifting his brow. 'He means a man old enough to be his father, sir. I endeavor to instill him with some few notions of respect, but the town spoils him. Indulges him completely, I may say. And when Sharon's sympathies are stirred sir, it will espouse a cause very warmly—Give me that!' broke off the schoolmaster, and there followed a brief wrestle. 'Chewing again to-day, sir,' he added to me.
'Abe lemme have it,' shrieked Josey. 'Lemme go, or he'll come over and fix you.'
But the calm, chilly Eastman had ground the tobacco under his heel. 'You can understand how my hands are tied,' he said to me.
'Readily,' I answered.
'The men give Josey his way in everything. He has a—I may say an unworthy aunt.'
'Yes,' said I. 'So I have gathered.'
At this point Josey ducked and slid free, and the united flock vanished with jeers at us. Josey forgot they had insulted him, they forgot he had beaten them; against a common enemy was their friendship cemented.
'You spoke of Sharon's warm way of espousing causes,' said I to Eastman.
'I did, sir. No one could live here long without noticing it.'
'Sharon is a quiet town, but sudden,' remarked Stuart. 'Apt to be sudden. They're beginning about strawberry night,' he said to Eastman. 'Wanted to know about things down in the saloon.'
'How does their taste in elocution chiefly lie?' I inquired.
Eastman smiled. He was young, totally bald, the moral dome of his skull rising white above visionary eyes and a serious auburn beard. He was clothed in a bleak, smooth slate-gray suit, and at any climax of emphasis he lifted slightly upon his toes and relaxed again, shutting his lips tight on the finished sentence. 'Your question,' said he, 'has often perplexed me. Sometimes they seem to prefer verse; sometimes prose stirs them greatly. We shall have a liberal crop of both this year. I am proud to tell you I have augmented our number of strawberry speakers by nearly fifty per cent.'
'How many will there be?' said I.
'Eleven. You might wish some could be excused. But I let them speak to stimulate their interest in culture. Will you not take dinner with me, gentlemen? I was just sitting down when little Josey Yeatts brought me out.'
We were glad to do this, and he opened another can of corned beef for us. 'I cannot offer you wine, sir,' said he to me, 'though I am aware it
