This was the sentiment expressed by Frank as he retired to rest at the end
of the most eventful day in his young life. The hours had indeed been full
of incidents. He reviewed them all as he lay, his head on his pillow.

Frank smiled to himself as he remembered Gill Mace. The boy who had called
Frank a thief was unable to repeat the vile accusation when he emerged from
the puddle into which Frank had pushed him. His mouth was full of mud, his
hair was a dripping mop, his clothes were plastered with it. Frank had
waited to respond to any later move that Gill might decide on. The
jeweler's nephew, however, made none. As he emerged from the puddle three
schoolgirls, arms linked in friendly companionship, passed the spot. They
noticed Gill and tittered, and Gill sneaked away without so much as even
glancing at Frank again.

"I always thought you three fellows a pretty good lot," Frank spoke to the
companions of Gill. "I'd hate to change my opinion by thinking you believe
what Gill Mace said about my being a thief."

Frank looked so manly and earnest as he spoke these words that his hearers
were impressed. One of them stepped up and shook hands with him. Another
remarked that he believed no story until he had evidence of its
truthfulness, and a third half intimated that he would have served Gill
Mace just as Frank had done if he made an untrue accusation.

When Frank got home he discovered that his pocket knife was missing. He
tried to remember what had become of it, and finally decided that he must
have left it on the log frame or dropped it to the ground when he had
started out to meet Gill Mace. Frank valued the knife as a pleasant
reminder of Ned Foreman, and planned to get up extra early the next morning