spools, and ran to my mother. He did not fear her, but followed closely
after me. Then I ran round and round the stove, crying aloud for help.
But my mother and the woman seemed not to know my danger. They sat
still, looking quietly upon the devil's chase after me. At last I grew
dizzy. My head revolved as on a hidden pivot. My knees became numb, and
doubled under my weight like a pair of knife blades without a spring.
Beside my mother's chair I fell in a heap. Just as the devil stooped
over me with outstretched claws my mother awoke from her quiet
indifference, and lifted me on her lap. Whereupon the devil vanished,
and I was awake.

On the following morning I took my revenge upon the devil. Stealing into
the room where a wall of shelves was filled with books, I drew forth The
Stories of the Bible. With a broken slate pencil I carried in my apron
pocket, I began by scratching out his wicked eyes. A few moments later,
when I was ready to leave the room, there was a ragged hole in the page
where the picture of the devil had once been.




V.

IRON ROUTINE


A loud-clamoring bell awakened us at half-past six in the cold winter
mornings. From happy dreams of Western rolling lands and unlassoed
freedom we tumbled out upon chilly bare floors back again into a
paleface day. We had short time to jump into our shoes and clothes, and