Winning His Way | Page 5

Smith reached New Hope. Paul and Bruno were
sitting beneath the maple.
"Where did you find old Whitey?" Paul asked.
"You was the one who did it, you little rascal!"
"Did what?"
"You know what. You have made me walk clear to Fairview. I have a
mind to horsewhip you."
Paul laughed to think that the old horse had tramped so far, though he
was sorry that Mr. Smith had been obliged to walk that distance.
"I didn't mean any harm, Mr. Smith; but old Whitey has made our
dooryard his stamping-place all summer, and I thought I would see if I
could get rid of him."
"Well, sir, if you do it again I'll trounce you!" said Mr. Smith as he rode
away, his anger coming up.
"Wouldn't it be better for you to put him in a pasture, Mr. Smith? Then
he wouldn't trouble us," said Paul, who knew that Mr. Smith had no
right to let old Whitey run at large. Paul was not easily frightened when
he had right on his side. The people in the stores and at the tavern had a
hearty laugh when they heard how old Whitey went to Fairview.
Mr. Cipher taught the village school. He was tall, slim, thin-faced, with
black eyes deeply set in his head, and a long, hooked nose like an
eagle's bill. He wore a loose swallow-tailed coat with bright brass

buttons, and pants which were several inches too short. The Committee
employed him, not because he was a superior teacher, but they could
get him for twelve dollars a month, while Mr. Rudiment, who had been
through college, and who was known to be an excellent instructor,
asked sixteen.
There was a crowd of roistering boys and rosy-cheeked girls, who
made the old school-house hum like a beehive. Very pleasant to the
passers-by was the music of their voices. At recess and at noon they
had leap-frog and tag. Paul was in a class with Philip Funk, Hans
Middlekauf, and Michael Murphy. There were other boys and girls of
all nationalities. Paul's ancestors were from Connecticut, while Philip's
father was a Virginian. Hans was born in Germany, and Michael in
Ireland. Philip's father kept a grocery, and sold sugar, molasses,
tobacco, and whiskey. He was rich, and Philip wore good clothes and
calf-skin boots. Paul could get his lessons very quick whenever he set
about them in earnest, but he spent half his time in inventing fly-traps,
making whirligigs, or drawing pictures on his slate. He had an accurate
eye, and could draw admirably. Philip could get his lessons also if he
chose to apply himself, but it was a great deal easier to have some one
work out the problems in arithmetic than to do them himself.
"Here, Paul, just help me; that is a good fellow," he said, coaxingly.
It was at recess.
"No; Cipher has forbid it. Each one must do his own work," said Paul.
"If you will do it, I will give you a handful of raisins," said Philip, who
usually had his pockets full of raisins, candy, or nuts.
"It wouldn't be right."
"Come, just do this one; Cipher never will know it."
"No!" Paul said it resolutely.
"You are a mean, sneaking fellow," said Philip.

Philip was a year older than Paul. He had sandy hair, white eyelashes,
and a freckled face. He carried a watch, and always had money in his
pocket. Paul, on the other hand, hardly ever had a cent which he could
call his own. His clothes were worn till they were almost past mending.
"Rag-tag has got a hole in his trousers," said Philip to the other boys.
Paul's face flushed. He wanted to knock Phillip's teeth down his throat.
He knew that his mother had hard work to clothe him, and felt the
insult keenly. He went into the school-house, choked his anger down,
and tried to forget all about it by drawing a picture of the master. It was
an excellent likeness,--his spindle legs, great feet, short pants, loose
coat, sunken eyes, hooked nose, thin face, and long bony fingers.
Philip sat behind Paul. Instead of studying his lesson, he was planning
how to get Paul into trouble. He saw the picture. Now was his time. He
giggled aloud. Mr. Cipher looked up in astonishment.
"What are you laughing at, Master Funk?"
"At what Paul is doing."
Paul hustled his slate into his desk.
"Let me see what you have here," said Cipher, walking up to Paul, who
spat on his fingers, and ran his hand into the desk, to rub out the
drawing; but he felt that it would be better to meet his punishment
boldly than to have the school think he was a sneak. He laid the slate
before the