Larry had hard work to keep back the tears when he saw some article of furniture, with which were associated happy memories, bid for by some farmer.
When, at length, Mr. Rollinson reached the old armchair, in which Mr. Dexter used to sit and tell his children stories, and where, during the last days of his life he had rested with his little family gathered about him, Larry could stand it no longer. He felt the hot scalding tears come to his eyes, and ran out behind the big red barn, where he sobbed out his grief all alone.
He covered his face with his hands and, as he thought of the happy days that seemed to be gone forever, his grief grew more intense. All at once he heard a voice calling:
“Hello, cry-baby!”
At first Larry was too much occupied with his troubles to pay any attention. Then someone called again:
“Larry Dexter cries like a girl!”
Larry looked up, to meet the laughing gaze of a boy about his own size and age, with bright red hair and a face much covered with freckles.
“I’m not a cry-baby!” Larry exclaimed.
“You be, too! Didn’t I see you cryin’?”
“I’ll make you cry on the other side of your mouth, Chot Ramsey!” Larry exclaimed, making a spring for his tormentor.