Outside of the time allotted for the performance of a wholesome amount
of farm work and the preparation of his daily lessons, David was free
for diversions which had hitherto entered sparingly into his life.
After school hours and on Saturdays the Barnabas farm was the general
rendezvous for all the children within a three-mile radius. The old
woods by the river rang with the gay treble of childish laughter and
the ecstatic barking of dogs dashing in frantic pursuit. There was
always an open sesame to the cookie jar and the apple barrel.
David suffered the common fate of all in having a dark cloud. Jud was
the dark cloud, and his silver lining had not yet materialized.
In height and physical strength Jud was the superior, so he delighted
in taunting and goading the younger boy. There finally came a day when
instinctive self-respect upheld David in no longer resisting the call
to arms. Knowing Barnabas' disapproval of fighting, and with his
mother's parting admonition pricking his conscience, he went into
battle reluctantly and half-heartedly, so the fight was not prolonged,
and Jud's victory came easily. Barnabas, hurrying to the scene of
action, called Jud off and reprimanded him for fighting a smaller boy,
which hurt David far more than did the pummeling he had received.
"What wuz you fighting fer, anyway?" he demanded of David.
"Nothing," replied David laconically, "just fighting."
"Jud picks on Davey all the time," was the information furnished by
the indignant Janey, who had followed her father.
"Well, I forbid either one of you to fight again. Now, Jud, see that
you leave Dave alone after this."
Emboldened by his easily won conquest and David's apparent lack of
prowess, Jud continued his jeering and nagging, but David set his lips
in a taut line of finality and endured in silence until there came the
taunt superlative.
"Your mother was a washerwoman, and your father a convict."
There surged through David a fierce animal hate. With a tight closing
of his hardy young fist, he rushed to the onslaught so swiftly and so
impetuously that Jud recoiled in fear and surprise. With his first
tiger-like leap David had the older boy by the throat and bore him to
the ground, maintaining and tightening his grip as they went down.
"I'll kill you!"
David's voice was steady and calm, but the boy on the ground
underneath felt the very hairs of his head rising at the look in the
dark eyes above his own.
Fortunately for both of them Barnabas was again at hand.
He jerked David to his feet.
"Fightin' again, are you, after I told you not to!"
"It was him, David, that began it. I never struck him," whimpered Jud,
edging away behind his father.
"Did you, David?" asked Barnabas bluntly, still keeping his hold on
the boy, who was quivering with passion.
"Yes."
His voice sounded odd and tired, and there was an ache of bafflement
in his young eyes.
"What fer? What did he do to make you so mad?"
"He said my mother was a washerwoman and my father a convict! Let me
go! I'll kill him!"
With a returning rush of his passion, David struggled in the man's
grasp.
"Wait, Dave, I'll tend to him. Go to the barn, Jud!" he commanded his
son.
Jud quailed before this new, strange note in his father's voice.
"David was fighting. You said neither of us was to fight. 'T ain't
fair to take it out on me."
Fairness was one of Barnabas' fixed and prominent qualities, but Jud
was not to gain favor by it this time.
"Well, you don't suppose I'm a-goin' to lick Dave fer defendin' his
parents, do you? Besides, I'm not a-goin' to lick you fer fightin',
but fer sayin' what you did. I guess you'd hev found out that Dave
could wallop you ef he is smaller and younger."
"He can't!" snarled Jud. "I didn't have no show. He came at me by
surprise."
Barnabas reflected a moment. Then he said gravely:
"When it's in the blood of two fellers to fight, why thar's got to be
a fight, that's all. Thar won't never be no peace until this ere
question's settled. Dave, do you still want to fight him?"
A fierce aftermath of passion gleamed in David's eyes.
"Yes!" he cried, his nostrils quivering.
"And you'll fight fair? Jest to punish--with no thought of killin'?"
"I'll fight fair," agreed the boy.
"I'll see that you do. Come here, Jud."
"I don't want to fight," protested Jud sullenly.
"He's afraid," said David gleefully, every muscle quivering and
straining.
"I ain't!" yelled Jud.
"Come on, then," challenged David, a fierce joy tugging at his
heart.
Jud came with deliberate precision and a swing of his left. He was
heavier and harder, but David was more agile, and his whole heart was
in the fight this time. They clutched and grappled and parried, and
finally went down; first one was on top, then the other. It was the
wage of brute force against elasticity; bluster against valor. Jud
fought in fear; David, in ferocity. At last David bore his oppressor
backward and downward. Jud, exhausted, ceased to struggle.
"Thar!" exclaimed Barnabas, drawing a relieved breath. "I guess you
know how you stand now, and we'll all feel better. You've got all
that's comin' to you, Jud, without no more from me. You can both go to
the house and wash up."
Uncle Larimy had arrived at the finish of the fight.
"What's the trouble, Barnabas?" he asked interestedly, as the boys
walked away.
The explanation was given, but they spoke in tones so low that David
could not overhear any part of the conversation from the men
following him until, as they neared the house, Uncle Larimy said: "I
was afeerd Dave hed his pa's temper snoozin' inside him. Mebby he'd
orter be told fer a warnin'."
"I don't want to say nuthin' about it less I hev to. I'll wait till
the next time he loses his temper."
David ducked his head in the wash basin on the bench outside the door.
After supper, when Barnabas came out on the back porch for his hour of
pipe, he called his young charge to him. Since the fight, David's face
had worn a subdued but contented expression.
"Looks," thought Barnabas, "kinder eased off, like a dog when he licks
his chops arter the taste of blood has been drawed."
"Set down, Dave. I want to talk to you. You done right to fight fer
yer folks, and you're a good fighter, which every boy orter be, but
when I come up to you and Jud I see that in yer face that I didn't
know was in you. You've got an orful temper, Dave. It's a good thing
to hev--a mighty good thing, if you kin take keer of it, but if you
let it go it's what leads to murder. Your pa hed the same kind of
let-loose temper that got him into heaps of trouble."
"What did my father do?" he asked abruptly.
Instinctively he had shrunk from asking his mother this question, and
pride had forbidden his seeking the knowledge elsewhere.
"Some day, when you are older, you will know all about it. But
remember, when any one says anything like what Jud did, that yer ma
wouldn't want fer you to hev thoughts of killin'. You see, you fought
jest as well--probably better--when you hed cooled off a mite and hed
promised to fight fair. And ef you can't wrastle your temper and down
it as you did Jud, you're not a fust-class fighter."
"I'll try," said David slowly, unable, however, to feel much remorse
for his outbreak.
"Jud'll let you alone arter this. You'd better go to bed now. You need
a little extry sleep."
M'ri came into his room when he was trying to mend a long rent in his
shirt. He flushed uncomfortably when her eye fell on the garment. She
took it from him.
"I'll mend it, David. I don't wonder that your patience slipped its
leash, but--never fight when you have murder in your heart."
When she had left the room, Janey's face, pink and fair as a baby
rose, looked in at the door.
"It's very wicked to fight and get so mad, Davey."
"I know it," he acknowledged readily. It was useless trying to make a
girl understand.
There was a silence. Janey still lingered.
"Davey," she asked in an awed whisper, "does it feel nice to be
wicked?"
David shook his head non-committally.