“Yes, sir,” smiled Ned. “And I’ve got a new eye, too. Want to see it?” and advancing toward the front to meet his father he obligingly lifted the bandage.
“Phew!” said Mr. Miller, gravely. “I think I prefer the old eye. Was this a present?”
“I traded for it,” laughed Ned.
His father put a hand on his shoulder, and together they entered the house. Here Ned, helped out by his mother, again made his explanations. At the close his father simply said:
“Well, Ned, I don’t see how you could have acted any differently—but I don’t approve of fighting, any more than does your mother. Fighting is not always a fair test of your side of a question, you know. It is better to avoid a fight by every honorable means in your power. Sometimes it is more cowardly to fight than to keep from fighting. But if you can’t avoid it,” he added, quizzically; “if there’s nothing left to do, to save honor, but fight, then fight for all there is in you!”
“Will!” protested Mrs. Miller, horrified.
“But if I had to fight—just had to fight—you’d want me to lick, wouldn’t you, mother?” appealed Ned.
“I can’t bear to think of your fighting at all, Neddie,” declared his mother, firmly.
Ned’s black eye went away rapidly—although not so rapidly as it had come—and he was made to wear the bandage only a short time. For this he was thankful, since warm weather arrived, and with it “good packing”—and what boy can throw straight with but one eye.
At first the thaw improved the coasting, but in the end it spoiled it. So long as the coasting lasted the South Beaufort gang continued to use the hill, but no more fights occurred.