under anybody's thumb and Judas lived centuries ago. He wasn't doing
any harm helping a man do something he wasn't supposed to know what.
Hang it all! Where was Mark Carter anyway? Somehow Cart always seemed
to set a fella straight. He was like Miss Lynn. He saw through things
you hadn't even told him about. But this was a man's affair, not a
woman's.

Of course there was another side to it. He _could_ give some of
the money to Aunt Saxon to buy coal--instead of the sweater--well,
maybe it would do both. And he _could_ give some to that fund for
the Chinese Mission, Miss Lynn was getting up in the class. He would
stop on the way back and give her a whole dollar. He sat, chin in hand,
gazing out on the field, quite satisfied with himself, and suddenly
some one back by the plate struck a fine clean ball with a click and
threw the bat with a resounding ring on the hard ground as he made for
a home run. Billy started and looked keenly at the bat, for somehow the
ring of it as it fell sounded curiously like the tinkle of silver. Who
said thirty pieces of silver? Billy threw a furtive look about and a
cold perspiration broke out on his forehead. Queer that old Bible story
had to stick itself in. He could see the grieving in the Master's eyes
as Judas gave Him that kiss. She had made the story real. She could do
that, and made the boy long somehow to make it up to that betrayed
Master, and he couldn't get away from the feeling that he was falling
short. Of course old Pat had _said_ the man had money _belonging_ to
_him_, and you had to go mostly by what folks _said_, but it did look
shady.

The game seemed slow after that. The two captains were wrangling over
some point of rule, and the umpire was trying to pacify them both.
Billy arose with well feigned languor and remarked, "Well, I gotta beat