About three o’clock in the morning a shrill whistle blew, and, from habit, I sprang out of bed.  I had hardly struck the floor when four pairs of heavy boots thundered down the stairs just outside the door, and I heard a gasp from the startled tutor.  He was bolt upright in bed, and his face in the moonlight was white with fear.

“Wha—­wha—­what’s that?”

I told him it was a police whistle and that the boys were answering it.  Everybody jumped when he heard a whistle, I explained; for nobody in town was permitted to blow one except a policeman.  I guessed there would be enough men answering that whistle without me, however, and I slipped back into bed.

“Well,” he said; and when the boys lumbered upstairs again and one shouted through the door, “All right!” the tutor said again with emphasis:  “Well!”

Next day there was to be a political gathering at the Gap.  A Senator was trying to lift himself by his own boot-straps into the Governor’s chair.  He was going to make a speech, there would be a big and unruly crowd, and it would be a crucial day for the Guard.  So, next morning, I suggested to the tutor that it would be unwise for him to begin work with his pupils that day, for the reason that he was likely to be greatly interrupted and often.  He thought, however, he would like to begin.  He did begin, and within half an hour Gordon, the town sergeant, thrust his head inside the door and called the colonel by name.

“Come on,” he said; “they’re going to try that d—­n butcher.”  And seeing from the tutor’s face that he had done something dreadful, he slammed the door in apologetic confusion.  The tutor was law-abiding, and it was the law that called the colonel, and so the tutor let him go—­nay, went with him and heard the case.  The butcher had gone off on another man’s horse—­the man owed him money, he said, and the only way he could get his money was to take the horse as security.  But the sergeant did not know this, and he and the colonel rode after him, and the colonel, having the swifter horse, but not having had time to get his own pistol, took the sergeant’s and went ahead.  He fired quite close to the running butcher twice, and the butcher thought it wise to halt.  When he saw the child who had captured him he was speechless, and he got off his horse and cut a big switch to give the colonel a whipping, but the doughty Infant drew down on him again and made him ride, foaming with rage, back to town.  The butcher was good-natured at the trial, however, and the tutor heard him say, with a great guffaw: 

“An’ I do believe the d—­n little fool would ‘a’ shot me.”

Once more the tutor looked at the pupil whom he was to lead into the classic halls of Harvard, and once more he said: 

“Well!”