Walter sat at his window until bedtime.  Di crept in, hoping to be told what was wrong, but Walter could not talk of it, even to Di.  Talking of it seemed to give it a reality from which he shrank.  It was torture enough to think of it.  The crisp, withered leaves rustled on the maple trees outside his window.  The glow of rose and flame had died out of the hollow, silvery sky, and the full moon was rising gloriously over Rainbow Valley.  Afar off, a ruddy woodfire was painting a page of glory on the horizon beyond the hills.  It was a sharp, clear evening when far-away sounds were heard distinctly.  A fox was barking across the pond; an engine was puffing down at the Glen station; a blue-jay was screaming madly in the maple grove; there was laughter over on the manse lawn.  How could people laugh?  How could foxes and blue-jays and engines behave as if nothing were going to happen on the morrow?

“Oh, I wish it was over,” groaned Walter.

He slept very little that night and had hard work choking down his porridge in the morning.  Susan was rather lavish in her platefuls.  Mr. Hazard found him an unsatisfactory pupil that day.  Faith Meredith’s wits seemed to be wool-gathering, too.  Dan Reese kept drawing surreptitious pictures of girls, with pig or rooster heads, on his slate and holding them up for all to see.  The news of the coming battle had leaked out and most of the boys and many of the girls were in the spruce plantation when Dan and Walter sought it after school.  Una had gone home, but Faith was there, having tied her blue ribbon around Walter’s arm.  Walter was thankful that neither Jem nor Di nor Nan were among the crowd of spectators.  Somehow they had not heard of what was in the wind and had gone home, too.  Walter faced Dan quite undauntedly now.  At the last moment all his fear had vanished, but he still felt disgust at the idea of fighting.  Dan, it was noted, was really paler under his freckles than Walter was.  One of the older boys gave the word and Dan struck Walter in the face.

Walter reeled a little.  The pain of the blow tingled through all his sensitive frame for a moment.  Then he felt pain no longer.  Something, such as he had never experienced before, seemed to roll over him like a flood.  His face flushed crimson, his eyes burned like flame.  The scholars of Glen St. Mary school had never dreamed that “Miss Walter” could look like that.  He hurled himself forward and closed with Dan like a young wildcat.

There were no particular rules in the fights of the Glen school boys.  It was catch-as-catch can, and get your blows in anyhow.  Walter fought with a savage fury and a joy in the struggle against which Dan could not hold his ground.  It was all over very speedily.  Walter had no clear consciousness of what he was doing until suddenly the red mist cleared from his sight and he found himself kneeling on the body of the prostrate Dan whose nose—­oh, horror!—­was spouting blood.