though in the same building. "Is there them that makes it hot for 'em
when they can?" he said anxiously to himself. "We'll have to be stayin'
more together mornin's and noons and recesses, so we will."

But staying together did not avail. Jim Barrows and his set found more
delight in tormenting several unresisting victims than they could
possibly have enjoyed with only one.

"Ah, but this nignaggin's hard to stand!" thought Pat a week later. He
was on his way to school. Pat was always last to get off on account of
his work. That morning Jim Barrows was feeling particularly valiant. He
thought of the "O'Callaghan tribe," as he called them, and his spirits
rose. He was seventeen and large for his age. "Them low Irish needs
somebody to keep 'em to their places," he said to himself, "and I'm the
one to do it."

Just then he spied Andy a few steps ahead of him, Andy, who was only
eleven, and small and frail. Two strides of his long legs overtook the
little boy. A big, ugly hand laid itself firmly on the shrinking little
shoulder. Words of abuse assailed the sensitive ears, and were followed
by a rude blow. Then Jim Barrows, regarding his duty done for that time,
lounged on, leaving the little fellow crying pitifully.

A few moments later, Pat came along, and, finding his favorite brother
crying, insisted upon knowing the reason. And Andy told him. With all
the abuse they had borne, not one of the brothers had been struck
before. As Pat listened his anger grew to fury. His blue eyes flashed
like steel.

"Cheer up, Andy!" he said, "and run on to school. You needn't be afraid.