he spent almost entirely with his chickens and garden and strange
assortment of books. He was a man who did his own thinking, never gave
advice, never took it and believed in all creatures tending strictly to
their own affairs.

Every once in a while, perhaps from a sudden heart hunger, Frank would
select from a whole townful of human beings some one soul for
friendship. Frank never got acquainted accidentally. He picked out
his few friends deliberately and loved them openly and forever.

Of course, Frank's oldest and dearest friend was Jim Tumley. People
said they were born friends. Their mothers had been inseparable, the
boys were born within a few days of each other and seemed to be marked
with a passion of loyalty for one another. Only in their love for
music were they alike however.

Frank was a big, square, burly man who went his way surely,
confidently, though a little belligerently. Jim was little and fair
and ever so gentle. There was never a harsh word in Jim's mouth or a
bitter thought in his heart against the world that often bruised him
because of his gentleness and frailty. Jim had had only one fight in
his life.

When he and Frank were about twelve years old, strange to say, Jim was
the taller and stronger. And it was then that Jim fought and
vanquished a bully who for months had been making Frank miserable.

Frank never forgot that one fight of Jim's. He shot head and shoulders
over his friend and filled out beyond all recognition and took his turn
at fighting. And most of his battles then as now were over little Jim