Farrington had no intention of uttering these last words, but his heart
was so full of anger that he hardly knew what he was saying.

Dan's eyes flashed, and his little hands suddenly doubled at his side. He
did not comprehend the meaning of these words, but he felt that his
friend, the white-headed old man, was being insulted. With him to think
was to act, and many a boy larger than himself had felt the lightning
blows of those little tense knuckles.

"What do ye mean?" he demanded, looking up into Farrington's face.

"What do I mean? Well, if ye want to know, I mean that Parson John is a
rogue, an' that you are nuthin' but a young sucker, an impudent outcast,
spongin' fer yer livin' upon others."

Hardly had the words left Farrington's lips, when, with a cry as of a wild
animal, Dan leaped full upon him, caught him by the hair with one hand,
and with the other rained blow after blow upon his face.

With a howl of mingled pain and rage, Farrington endeavoured to free
himself from this human wild-cat. He struggled and fought, and at length
succeeded in tearing away that writhing, battering form. With one hand he
held him at arm's length and shook him as a terrier shakes a rat. Dan
struggled, squirmed and bit, but all in vain; he was held as in a vice.
Not satisfied with shaking the lad, Farrington reached over and, seizing a
broken barrel stave from the wood-box, brought it down over the lad's
shoulder and back with a resounding thud. A cry of pain, the first that he
had uttered, fell from Dan's lips, and with a mighty effort he tried to
escape. The stick was raised again. It was about to fall, when suddenly it