And with that decision Janice was obliged to leave him.
"The poor, foolish boy!" Aunt 'Mira said. "Don't he know we all air sufferin' with him?"
But Uncle Jason seemed better to appreciate the schoolmaster's attitude.
"I don't blame him none. He's jest like a dog with a hurt paw—wants ter crawl inter his kennel and lick his wounds. It's a tough propersition, for a fac'."
"He needn't be afraid that the fellers will guy him," growled Marty.
"If they do, I'll lick 'em!"
"Oh, Marty! All of them?" cried Janice, laughing at his vehemence, yet tearful, too.
"Well—all I can," declared her cousin. "And there ain't many I can't, you bet."
"If you was as fond of work as ye be of fightin', Marty," returned Mr.
Day, drily, "you sartin sure'd be a wonderful feller."
"Ya-as," drawled his son but in a very low tone, "maw says I'm growin' more'n more like you, every day."
"Marty," Janice put in quickly, before the bickering could go any further, "did you see little Lottie? It was so late when I came out of Mrs. Beaseley's, I ran right home."