Always in response to that demand of the large boy, who was always the one who danced closest to the boy at bay, came the reply, in a voice like a bird’s, “Die first—­die first.”

After a most energetic dash of this large boy, Anderson stepped up and caught him by the shoulder on his retreat from the determined little fist.  He knew the large boy; he was a nephew of Henry Lee, whose wife had invaded the Carroll house in the absence of the family.

“See here, Harry,” said Anderson, “what is this about, eh?”

The large boy, who, in spite of his size, was a youngster, looked at once terrifiedly and pugnaciously into his face, and beginning with a whimper of excuse to Anderson, ended with a snarl of wrath for the other boy.  “He tells lies, he does.  He tells lies.  Ya-h!” The boy danced at the other even under Anderson’s restraining hand on his shoulder.  “Yerlie—­yerlie!  Ya-h!” he yelled, and all the others joined in.  The chorus was deafening.  Anderson’s hand on the boy’s shoulder tightened.  He shook him violently.  The boy’s cap fell off, and his shock of fair hair waved.  He rolled eyes of terrified wonder at his captor.  “What, wha-at?—­” he stammered.  “You lemme be.  You—­ Wha-at?”

“I’ll tell you what, you big bully, you,” said Anderson, sternly.  “That boy there is one to a dozen, and he’s the smallest of the lot—­he’s half your size.  Now, what in thunder are you all about, badgering that little chap so?”

A sudden silence prevailed.  They all stood looking from under lowered eyebrows at the group of watching men; their small shoulders under their little school-jackets were seen to droop; scarcely a boy but shuffled his right leg, while their hands, which had been gyrating fists, unclinched and twitched at their sides.  But the boy did not relax for a second his expression of leaping, bounding rage, of a savage young soul in a feeble body.  Now he included Anderson and the other men.  He held his head with the haughtiness of a prince.  He seemed to question them with silent wrath.

“Who are you who dare to come here and interfere in my quarrel?” he seemed to say.  “I was sufficient unto myself.  I needed none of your protection.  What if I was one to a dozen?  Look at me!” His little hands did not for a second unclinch.  He was really very young, probably no more than ten.  He was scarcely past his babyhood, but he was fairly impressive, not the slightest maturity of mind, but of spirit.  He could never take a fiercer stand against odds than now if he lived to be a hundred.

Anderson approached him, in spite of himself, with a certain respect.  “What is the matter, young man?” he inquired, gravely.

The boy regarded him with silent resentment and scorn; he did not deign an answer.  But the big boy replied for him promptly: 

“He—­he said his father kept a tame elephant when they lived in New York State, and he—­he used to ride him—­”