OLD HOMESTEAD 



and when I struck '' Yates," almost yelled it out. Diantha's 

 eyes snapped as she gave me a withering look and coolly said, 

 " Henry, you can go through the list again." This I did, faster 

 than before, ending up, " Westchester, Wyoming, Yates," drop- 

 ping my voice to a low growl. By this time her eyes looked 

 more and more dangerous, and she quietly said, ''Henry, you 

 may go through the list once more." 



It began to get serious. The whole class were intently 

 watching. It was a question whether a young man like me was 

 to be cowed down by a little woman, or whether I was to main- 

 tain the independent and fearless position and manner which I 

 had assumed. I did not go through the list quite so fast the 

 third time, because I was revolving in my mind what would 

 probably happen, but as I came down to ''Westchester, Wyom- 

 ing, Yates," pronounced "Yates" with a kind of hissing whis- 

 per. vShe did not stop to argue with me as to the impropriety 

 or impudence of my conduct, but asked me to come out on the 

 floor behind the old cast-iron stove, the class still standing. I 

 really did not know what to expect, or I think I should have 

 gone through the school-house door. Diantha had never struck 

 me — at least, not to hurt me so that I remembered it — and we 

 were then, as we always have been since, the very best of 

 friends. 



I walked out on the floor believing and fully calculating that, 

 whatever came, I was going to show off before the class that I 

 was a man. She took out of the desk a short, blue-beech 

 branch which had been cut from the sprangly tree which grew 

 on the bank in the rear of the school-house. I was dressed, not 

 for the occasion, but more properly for the season. I remember 

 just what I had on — a tow shirt and a pair of tow pants, with 

 a pair of suspenders knit of wool yarn. Without saying a word, 



III 



