She swallowed very hard an obstacle in her throat, said no in big letters to her own small mind, then ran over to George Edward, both hands full of sweets, and said in an odd little way all her own: "There, that's to make the poor people sick." A shout greeted her; but her mother kissed her, and Hortense was satisfied.
The baby of the group must not shame them all. So it was quite a respectable pile that at last lay in a good-sized paper bag tied with a flaming red ribbon, all ready for the expedition to Tim Ryan's after breakfast the next morning.
The candy did not injure the Ryans big and little, we will only say, but they came out of the feast with blooming sticky faces, and hearts full of gratitude toward the "Allen childer."
And then in two days they were all, that merry company, back once more in their homes, happy in the memory of the good time they had had, and full of pluck and enthusiasm for school and home life.
It was about this time that Jared Lewis, a rather dull boy in No. 9, the room that held George Edward in school-hours, broke out one day in the reading class with a new idea before them all. Jared was of a somewhat dull turn of mind, I have said. Certainly not a brilliant boy. But he held to a thought with wonderful pertinacity that once got into his mind; nothing could shake it.
They happened in the reading upon an abridged version of the Eastern legend of St. George and the Dragon, woven into a touching little English tale. We all know the stirring legend of the patron saint of England, Germany, and Venice, and of all chivalrous soldiers in the army battling against cruelty and injustice. It makes the blood leap in one's veins to read or to tell it, and one longs to grasp the good sword and go out to fight in the great world with the noble army of martyrs who enroll themselves on the side of the weak and suffering. There was many a sober little face, and one or two who pretended the light was bad for their eyes when Jared had stumbled through his rendition of the closing part. But he was so full of his new idea that his countenance was radiant and he cried in a loud assured tone, "Why, he goes to our school—he's here to-day."
"Who?" cried the teacher, and the children thrilled too suddenly, began to titter nervously.
"George Edward Allen," said Jared confidently. "He's Saint George, and he's always fighting a Dragon. He knocked a boy down yesterday for yanking a cat's tail."
The children stopped laughing, and, sharing his enthusiasm, nodded "yes, yes," to Jared. George Edward on the back seat studying his geography raised his head at the commotion. His face turned as red as fire and he made as though he would shoot his book through the air at the speaker's head. Jared went on in admiration more forcible than elegant: "He's always for the littlest dog in the fight, against the big fellows. I'd like to know if that isn't St. George."