[Illustration:  The Overturn.]

Ralph came to the relief of his brother, and having wiped off as much of the mud and water from his back as he could, with a handkerchief, Oscar started for home, wet to his skin.  He was keenly sensitive to any mortification of this kind, and it was a bitter pill for him to appear in the crowded streets in such a plight.  He imagined everybody he met or overtook was staring at him, and laughing at the figure he cut, and he wanted to hide his face from their sight.  He never went home from school so fast before; but when he had changed his dress, and washed the dirt from his hands and face, it was too late to return.  In the afternoon, when he made his appearance at school, he was quite generally greeted with the significant nickname of “Stick-in-the-mud,” and had to stand a most remorseless fire of wit, pleasantry, and ridicule the rest of the day, both at home and in the street.

Oscar thought quite as much as was proper of outward appearances.  He was commendably neat in his personal habits, and was seldom caught with dirty hands and face, or uncombed hair, or soiled and ragged dress.  He loved to dress well, too, and no amount of persuasion could induce him to wear a garment, if he fancied it did not set right, or was much out of fashion, or had an old and patched-up look.  In such a case, nothing but the stern arm of authority was sufficient to overcome his prejudices.

“There,” said his mother one evening, after spending some time over one of his jackets, which had become a little worn at the elbows; “there, that will last you a spell longer, and look almost as well as it ever did, too.”

Oscar examined the garment.  It was neatly mended, and looked very well; but his eye rested upon a slight patch upon one of the elbows, which entirely spoilt it for him, although it had previously been a favorite garment.

“It’s too small for me,” he said; “why can’t you keep it for Ralph?”

“No, you needn’t keep it for Ralph,” quickly replied the owner of that name; “I haven’t had anything but your old clothes to wear for a year or two, and I should think it was my turn to have some of the new ones, now.  Make him wear that out, mother, won’t you?”

“Yes, I intend he shall wear it awhile longer,” replied Mrs. Preston.  “It looks well enough for any body.”

“But see that detestable patch,” said Oscar; “I don’t want to wear that to school; folks will think I have borrowed one of Ben.  Wright’s old jackets.”

Ben Wright was one of Oscar’s schoolmates.  He was the son of a poor widow, and was the most be-patched boy in Oscar’s class, at the head of which he stood.  As he had nothing to recommend him but fine scholarship, exemplary deportment, and a good character, in school and out, he was a boy of little consequence in the eyes of Oscar.

“I wish you were worthy to wear one of Benny’s old jackets,” replied Mrs. Preston.  “If you were half as good a boy as he is, I would not complain.  But you need not be afraid that anybody will mistake you for him, even if you do wear a patched garment.”