the horse he had been driving to finish drinking. In another moment he grasped the situation and was leaping swiftly and noiselessly down the long slope over the stubble.
Tramps had been plentiful lately. His voice rang out to comfort Gerald and warn Mr. Sip. Gerald looked up, but with a white, set little face ran past him. Mr. Sip, taking in the height, weight, and courage of the frightened boy's new ally, turned and began running toward the low oak trees.
A strong ash stick, thrown with excellent aim, struck Mr. Sip squarely in the small of his back. He staggered for an instant, but rallied, and, a coward to the last, vanished in the thicket with a parting curse. Within an hour he might have been seen drinking buttermilk thirstily at a cottage a mile away. The good-humored farmer's daughter gave it to him, pitying a man who was "walking all the way from Wheelborough Heights to Paterson, in Jersey, marm, to find my old boss and git a job he's promised me."
And now good-bye, Mr. Sip! You have done something to-day that would surprise your lazy self immensely. You have done a stroke of
