stolid defiance. Nicholas did not flinch, but for the first time he felt
ashamed of his ugliness, of his coarse clothes, of his briar-scratched
legs, of his freckles, and of the unalterable colour of his hair. He
wished with all his heart that he were safely in the field with his
father, driving the one-horse harrow across upturned furrows. He didn't
want to learn anything any more. He wanted only to get away.

"He's common," said Dudley at last, throwing a crust of bread through
the open window. "He's as common as--as dirt. I heard mother say so--"

"Father says he's _un_common," returned Tom doubtfully, turning his
honest eyes on Nicholas again. "He told Mr. Graves that he was a most
uncommon boy."

"Oh, well, you can play with him if you like," rejoined Dudley
resolutely, "but I shan't. He's old Amos Burr's son, anyway, who never
wore a whole shirt in his life."

"He had on one yesterday," said Bernard Battle impartially. "I saw it.
It was just made and hadn't been washed."

Nicholas looked up stubbornly. "You let my father alone!" he exclaimed,
spurred by the desire to resent something and finding it easier to
fight for another than himself. "You let my father alone, or I'll make
you!"

"I'd like to see you!" retorted Dudley wrathfully, and Nicholas had
squared up for the first blow, when before his swimming gaze a defender
intervened.