[Illustration:  The Assault.]

Whistler hesitated for a moment between the contending impulses of obedience and manliness; and then, drawing himself up to his full stature, he said, with a respectful but decided air: 

“No, sir, I have n’t injured him, and I won’t run away from him.”

“Well said, well said—­you are a brave little fellow,” continued the gentleman, somewhat surprised at the turn the affair was taking.  “What is your name, sir?”

“William Davenport.”

“And what is this boy’s name?”

“Oscar,” replied Willie, and there he stopped, as if unwilling to expose further the name of his abuser.

“Well you may go now, Oscar,” said the gentleman, relinquishing his hold; “but if you lay your hands on William again, I shall complain of you.”

The two boys walked off in opposite directions, the gentleman keeping an eye upon Oscar until Whistler was out of his reach.

A little knot of boys was drawn together by the circumstance just related, among whom was George, Oscar’s youngest brother.  He witnessed the attack, but knew nothing of its cause.  As he went directly home, while Oscar did not, he had an opportunity to report to his mother and Ralph the scene he had just beheld.  Ralph now related to his mother the incident of the preceding day, which led to the assault; for, seeing Oscar’s unwillingness to have anything said about it, he had not mentioned the matter to any one at home.  Ralph was a generous-hearted boy, and in this case was actuated by a regard for Oscar’s feelings, rather than by fear.

Oscar did not come home that night until after dark.  As he entered the sitting-room, Alice, who was seated at the piano-forte, broke short off the piece she was playing, and said, looking at him as sternly as she could,

“You great ugly boy!”

“Why, what’s the matter now?” inquired Oscar, who hardly knew whether this rough salutation was designed to be in fun or in earnest; “don’t I look as well as usual?”

“You looked well beating little Willie Davenport, don’t you think you did?” continued his sister, with the same stern look.  “I ’m perfectly ashamed of you—­I declare, I did n’t know you could do such a mean thing as that.”

“I don’t care,” replied Oscar, “I ’ll lick him again, if he does n’t mind his own business.”

As Oscar did not know that George witnessed the assault, he was at a loss to know how Alice heard of it.  She refused to tell him, and he finally concluded that Whistler or his mother must have called there, to enter a complaint against him.  Pretty soon Mrs. Preston entered the room, and sat down, to await the arrival of Oscar’s father to tea.  She at once introduced the topic which was uppermost in her mind, by the inquiry: 

“Oscar, what is the trouble between you and Willie Davenport?”

“Why,” replied Oscar, “he ’s been telling stories about me.”