The Boy went back and looked at the slim body of the dead coon with wonder.
"Why did this one fight so much harder than the ones on the bank?" he asked thoughtfully.
"'Cause she's their mother," Tom said casually, "an' them's her two children."
Something hurt deep down in the Boy's soul as he looked at the graceful nose and the red-stained fur at her throat. He saw his mother's straight neck and head outlined again against the starlit sky the night she stood before him rifle in hand and shot at that midnight prowler.
His mouth closed firmly and he spoke with bitter decision:
"I don't like coon hunting. I'm not coming any more."
"Good Lord, Boy, we got ter have skins h'ain't we?" was the hearty answer.
"I reckon so," he sorrowfully admitted. But all the way home he walked in brooding silence.
X
The following winter brought the event for which the mother had planned and about which she had dreamed since her boy was born—a school!