Mary Spencer ran through the snow toward the two. "Don't fight him, John!
Don't! He's just a child!"

John whirled at her with his fists raised. Douglas jumped before his
step-mother and caught the blow on his raised elbow.

"And that'll be about enough of that, too, Dad!"

John caught his breath, then poured out a string of oaths and invectives,
ending with, "Now before I thrash the cussedness out of you, young
fellow, what excuse have you got to put up?"

"I haven't any." Douglas was still pale and his voice broke, childishly.
"Only, all of a sudden it seems cowardly to me for you to hit Mother.
She's not a child. You haven't got the excuse that you're training her.
And you know she can't hit you. You're a good fighter, but I notice you
don't hit Peter Knight or Charleton Falkner, any time they peeve you a
little. It was all right to lick me and Jude when we were little. But now
I warn you. I'm going to hit back. And you got to leave Judith and her
mother alone."

John Spencer stood staring at his son. Twice he raised his heavy fist
to strike him. Twice he dropped it. Douglas, still pale and trembling,
wondered at his own temerity. He always had been so terribly afraid
of his father!

"So you don't intend to obey me any more!" sneered John.

"Sure I do," replied Douglas. "Only I'm not going to be licked into doing