“Rags”
“Rags” was not present. The boys did not miss him much, to be sure. Mr. Benson, their good old, gray-haired teacher, had brought the lad to the Sunday School about six months before, and until lately he had been present almost every Sunday. But Bob Jerrold had found not one friend among the members of his class.
He had gotten his nickname at the district school. The first time he came he had been dressed in queer old clothes, mostly notable because they were very ragged; and his garments had remained in the same condition until the children fixed upon the word “Rags” as his most appropriate name.
Not all boys begin life with an equally happy lot. Bob Jerrold was among the unfortunate. His father was a drunken good-for-naught, and his mother was a careless slattern and a boy is very apt to take after his parents. Moreover, his parents had long been despised by all the community as the very worst and lowest of people, a disgrace to the neighborhood. Nobody looked for any good in Bob. So it happened that Bob had to fight his way amid insult and abuse that his parents had earned for him.
One day a company of school children came by the tumble-down old place that the Jerrolds called home. Catching sight of Bob out by the barn on a hay-stack, someone threw a snowball. There was a loud laugh.
“Rags, Rags, Rags!” yelled the whole company.
“Want to fight?” yelled one of the rougher boys.
“He dassen’t. He might tear his clothes,” answered another.
Bob dropped his fork and began to dodge and throw back. He had recognized some of the members of his Sunday School class among the company.
At this moment there was a jingle of bells, and Mr. Benson drove up with his sleigh. The youngsters all piled in gleefully, and were soon riding merrily down the road.