"Nobody you know, mother. It was only an Irish boy."

"What was your reason for punishing him?" asked Mrs. Preston, adopting
Godfrey's version of the affair.

"He was impudent to me. He was leaning against the fence, and I
ordered him away. He was a ragged boy, with a bundle on a stick. Of
course, when he wouldn't move, I went out and thrashed him."

"Was your father there?"

"He came up in the midst of it, and, instead of taking my part, he
took the part of the Irish boy."

"I don't see how Mr. Preston can be so unfair," said his wife. "It is
his duty to stand by his family."

"I felt ashamed to have him scold me before the impudent boy. Of
course, he enjoyed it, and I suppose he will think he can be impudent
to me again."

"No doubt. I will speak to your father about it. He really shouldn't
be so inconsiderate. But what is that stain on your coat, Godfrey? I
should think you had been down on your back on the ground."

"Oh," said Godfrey, rather embarrassed, "I happened to slip as I was
wrestling with the fellow, and fell on my back. However, I was up
again directly and gave it to him, I can tell you. If father hadn't
stopped me I'd have laid him out," he continued, in a swaggering tone.