"Aw, your man's no good. He won't fight," cried Mop with unspeakable
disgust. "I told you he wouldn't fight. Do you know why he won't fight?
His mother belongs to that people, them Quakers, that won't fight for
anything. He's a coward an' his mother's a coward before him."

The smile faded from Larry's lips. His face which had been pale flamed
a quick red, then as quickly became dead white. He turned from Joe and
looked at the boy who was tormenting him. Mop was at least four years
older, strongly and heavily built. For a moment Larry stood as though
estimating Mop's fighting qualities. Then apparently making up his mind
that on ordinary terms, owing to his lack in size and in strength, he
was quite unequal to his foe, he looked quickly about him and his
eye fell upon a stout and serviceable beechwood stake. With quiet
deliberation he seized the club and began walking slowly toward Mop, his
eyes glittering as if with madness, his face white as that of the dead.
So terrifying was his appearance that Mop began to back away. "Here you,
look out," he cried, "I will smash you." But Larry still moved steadily
upon him. His white face, his burning eyes, his steady advance was more
than Mop could endure. His courage broke. He turned and incontinently
fled. Whirling the stick over his head, Larry flung the club with all
his might after him. The club caught the fleeing Mop fairly between the
shoulders. At the same time his foot caught a root. Down he went upon
his face, uttering cries of deadly terror.

"Keep him off, keep him off. He will kill me, he will kill me."

But Larry having shot his bolt ignored his fallen enemy, and without a
glance at him, or at either of the other boys, or without a word to
any of them, he walked away through the wood, and deaf to their calling
disappeared through the cedar swamp and made straight for home and