“Needs just a leetle more, son,” the one-armed man told Jeff, dragging at his goatee.
But young Farnum had made up his mind. With a little twist of his body he got to his feet.
Merrill rose, tearful and sullen. “I—I'll fix you for this,” he gulped, and went sobbing toward the schoolhouse.
“Better duck,” James whispered to his cousin.
Jeff shook his head.
The little man looked at the boy sharply. The eyes under his shaggy brows were like gimlets.
“Come up to the school with me. I'll see your teacher, son.”
Jeff walked beside him. He knew by the sound of the voice that his rescuer was a Southerner and his heart warmed to him. He wanted greatly to ask a question. Presently it plumped out.
“Was it in the war, sir?”
“I reckon I don't catch your meaning.”