Joe timidly held out his left hand, keeping his eyes all the while on the uplifted board, which came down with force, but not on the little hand that had been withdrawn to escape the blow. Graybeard sprang at the boy, caught his hand, and attempted to strike it; but the boy pulled away and the board fell with a vicious thud on the wrist of the man, who now turned white with rage. Catching a firm grip on the hand of the boy, Graybeard dealt blow after blow on the visibly swelling hand. The man seemed to lose all self-control, gritting his teeth and breathing heavily, while the child writhed with pain, turned blue, and lost his breath.
It was a horrible sight. The scene in the schoolroom when the naked little boy was first brought there by the old woman rose before me; I heard the words of the grandmother as she gave the boy to Graybeard, “I beg that he be kindly treated; that is all I ask!” And she had told the child that the White-chests would be kind to him.
Poor Joe, I did what I never would have done if a boy of his own size had thrashed him, I took him by the hand and tried to comfort him, and cared for his bruises.
As for Graybeard, I did not care in the least about the violent shaking he had given me; but the vengeful way in which he fell upon that innocent boy created in my heart a hatred that was hard to conquer.
The day was spoiled for me; I partly blamed myself for it, though my plans had been to make the two little boys happy, but misery came instead. After supper I slipped away from my companions, and all alone I lay on the grass looking up at the stars, thinking of what had happened that afternoon. I tried to reconcile the act of Graybeard with the teachings of the Missionaries, but I could not do so from any point of view.
All the boys had come together in the yard, and someone called out, “Let’s play pull.” So they divided into two groups, grading each according to the size of the boys. Two of the strongest were selected, one from each side; they held a stout stick between them, then on each side the boys grasped each other around the waist. When all were ready, they began to pull, every boy crying, “Hue! Hue!” as he tugged and strained. In the dusk the contending lines looked like two great dark beasts tearing at each other and lashing their tails from side to side. Bob and Joe were at the very end of one side; Bob had tied a bit of rope around his waist, and Joe had hold of that with his only serviceable hand. The pulling lasted for quite a while; finally one side drew the other over the mark; the game ended, and the boys noisily disbanded.
“Frank! Frank!” I heard; it was Edwin and the rest of the gang.
“Here I am,” I called out, and they gathered around me.
“Joe’s hand is awful swelled up,” said Bob, as he threw himself down on the grass.
“What’s the matter with him?” asked Warren.
“Graybeard beat Joe’s hand like everything; he was so mad I thought he’d kill the boy.” Then I recounted the scene, adding, “I can’t think of anything else; it was awful!”
“Did he do anything to you?” asked Edwin.
“He shook me right hard when he asked me who did it; but when he saw Joe crying he knew who it was; then he let go of me and whipped him.”
Brush had been listening to my story without a word; now he arose and said, “Boys, stay here till I come back.”
He went into the house and knocked at the superintendent’s door.
“I’m glad to see you Brush,” said the superintendent, kindly. “Have you finished the book, and do you want another?”
“No, sir; I wish to speak to you about something that happened today, which I don’t think is quite right, and I thought you ought to know about it.” Then he told in a simple straightforward manner the story of Joe’s punishment.
When Brush had finished, the superintendent sent for Graybeard. For a long time the two men talked earnestly together. At length Brush returned, and said, as he took his seat among us:
“Boys, that will not happen again. Graybeard says he’s sorry he did it, and I believe him.”
XVI
The Break
“Brush! Brush! Brush!” I ran calling one morning soon after breakfast, down to the barn, to the spring, and back to the house, but I could not find the boy; then I thrust my fingers into my mouth and blew a loud robin call, and the answer came from under a tree up on the hillside. I ran hurriedly to the place; there lay Brush in the shade on the green grass reading.
The occasion of this excited search and call was the announcement by the superintendent that the school would be closed that day, and the children dismissed, so that they might go and see their parents, it being reported by an Indian who had come for his little girl that the people had just returned from the hunt.
“I been everywhere trying to find you,” I said to Brush. “My folks have come home. Put that old book away and come go with me to see them. There isn’t going to be any school today.”
“Frank, it’s right good of you to ask me, but I don’t feel very well; I think I better not go,” he replied, in a tone of disappointment. “All my bones ache, and I don’t know what’s the matter with me; but you go ’long, boy, and have a good time; you can tell me all about your visit when you come back.”
“I’m sorry you can’t go, Brush; but I’ll come back soon and bring you some buffalo meat,” I said, starting to go;
