The younger lad started violently and stammered.  Chagrined tears welled into his deep eyes, and a flush spread over his thin cheeks.

“I just—­just got to thinkin’,” he exculpated lamely, “an’ I fogot to hurry.  Listen at that water singin’, Ham!” His voice took on a rapt eagerness.  “An’ them leaves rustlin’.  It’s all like some kind of music that nobody’s ever played an’ nobody ever can play.”

Ham’s face, looking down from the commanding height of his sixteen years, hardened.

“Do you figure that Pap sends you to school to set out here and listen at the leaves rattlin’?” was the dry inquiry.  “To hear you talk a feller’d think there ain’t anything in the world but funny noises.  What do they get you?”

“Noises!” the slight lad’s voice filled and thrilled with remonstrance, “Can’t you ever understand music, Ham?  There’s all the world of difference between music an’ noise.  Music’s what the Bible says the angels love more’n anything.”

Ham’s lips set themselves sternly.  He was not one to be turned aside with quibbles.

“Look here, Paul,” he accused, “you didn’t come out here to get water and you didn’t come to listen to the fishes singin’ songs either.  You sneaked out to run away because you’re scared of Jimmy Marquess an’ because you know he’s goin’ to punch your face after school.”

The younger lad flushed crimson and he began an unconvincing denial.  “I ain’t—­I ain’t afraid of him, neither,” he protested.  “That ain’t the truth, Ham.”

“All right then.”  The elder boy filled the bucket and straightened up with business-like alacrity.  “If you ain’t scared of him we might as well go on back there an’ tell him so.  He thinks you are.”

Instinctively Paul flinched and turned pallid.  He gazed about him like a trapped rabbit, but his brother caught him roughly by the shoulder and wheeled him toward the school-house.

“But—­Ham—­but—­” The younger brother’s voice faltered and again tears came to his eyes.  “But I don’t b’lieve in fightin’.  I think it’s wicked.”

“Paul,” announced the other relentlessly, “you’re a coward.  Maybe it ain’t exactly your fault, but one thing’s dead certain.  There’s just one kind of feller that can’t afford to run away—­an’ that’s a coward, like you.  Everybody picks on a kid that’s yeller.  You’ve got to have one good fight to save a lot of others an’ this is the day you’re goin’ to have it.  After school you’ve got to smash Jimmy Marquess a wallop on his front teeth an’ if you don’t shake ’em plumb loose I’m goin’ to take you back in the woods an’ give you a revelation in lickin’s that’ll linger with you for years.”  Ham paused and then added ominously, “Now you can do just exactly as you like.  I don’t want to try to influence you, but that Marquess kid is your softest pickin’.”

Facing the dread consequences of such a dilemma, Paul went slowly and falteringly forward with the unhappy consciousness of his brother following warily at his heels.