warning, a little fury of blazing eyes and flying hair, and
white teeth showing in a snarl. If she had fought fair, or
if she had not taken them so by surprise, she would have
been powerless among them. But she had sprung at them with
the suddenness of rage. She kicked, and scratched, and bit,
and clawed and spat. She seemed not to feel the defensive
blows that were showered upon her in turn. Her own hard
little fists were now doubled for a thump or opened, like a
claw, for scratching.

"Go on home!" she yelled to Clarence, even while she fought.
And Clarence, gathering up his tattered school books, went,
and stood not on the order of his going. Whereupon Fanny
darted nimbly to one side, out of the way of boyish brown
fists. In that moment she was transformed from a raging
fury into a very meek and trembling little girl, who looked
shyly and pleadingly out from a tangle of curls. The boys
were for rushing at her again.

"Cowardy-cats! Five of you fighting one girl," cried Fanny,
her lower lip trembling ever so little. "Come on! Hit me!
Afraid to fight anything but girls! Cowardy-cats!" A tear,
pearly, pathetic, coursed down her cheek.

The drive was broken. Five sullen little boys stood and
glared at her, impotently.

"You hit us first," declared one boy. "What business d' you
have scratching around like that, I'd like to know! You old
scratch cat!"