“I wish father would move to New York or Philadelphia,” thought Herbert, yawning. “Hamilton is a dull hole, and there’s absolutely nothing to do. If we lived in a city, there wouldn’t be any difficulty in finding company and enjoying myself.”
There was a vacant field, unfenced, near the engine house, which was used as a sort of common by the village boys, and in the course of his walk Herbert Ross came to it.
Two boys of ten were playing marbles in one corner of the field. Their names were Harry Parker and John Grant.
“I’ll have some fun with them,” thought Herbert.
He stood watching the boys for a minute or two, then, stooping suddenly, seized the marbles with which they were playing.
“Give me those marbles, Herbert Ross,” cried Johnny Grant.
“What’ll you give to get them back?” asked Herbert.
“It’s mean to break up our game,” said Harry.
“Here, then, come and get them,” said Herbert.
Harry approached, and extended his hand to receive the marbles, but Herbert, with a taunting laugh, drew back his own hands, and put them into his pocket.