tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">The Scar and the Limp

“Ouch!”

“That was a dandy!”

“How’s that for a straight shot?”

“Thought you could dodge it, did you?”

“Have a heart, fellows! I’ve got a ton of snow down my back already.”

A tumult of shouts and laughter rose into the frosty air from a group of boys, ranging in age from ten to twelve years, who were throwing and dodging snowballs near the railroad station in the little town of Clinton.

Even the fact that four of the group were on their way back to school after the Christmas holidays was not sufficient to dampen their youthful spirits, and the piles of snow heaped up back of the platform had been too tempting to resist.

As though moved by a single spring they had dropped the bags they were carrying, and the next instant the air was full of flying snowballs. Most of them found their mark, though a few in the excitement of the fray passed dangerously near the station windows.

Flushed and eager, the panting warriors advanced or retreated, until a stray missile just grazed the ear of the baggage man, who was wheeling a load of trunks along the platform. He gave a roar of protest, and the boys thought it was time to stop. But they did it reluctantly.

“Too bad to stop right in the middle of the fun,” said Bobby Blake, a bright wholesome boy of about eleven years, with a frank face and merry brown eyes.

“Bailey’s got a grouch on this morning,” remarked Fred Martin, better known among the boys as “Ginger,” because of his red hair and equally fiery temper.

“I never saw him any other way,” put in “Scat” Monroe, one of the village boys, who had come down to the station to bid his friends good-bye. “I don’t believe Bailey ever was a boy.”

“Oh, I guess he was—once,” said Bobby, with the air of one making a generous concession, “but it was so long ago that he’s forgotten all about it.”

“Perhaps you’d be grouchy too if you came near being hit,” ventured Betty Martin, Fred’s sister, “especially if you weren’t getting any fun out of it.”

Betty formed one of a party of girls who bad accompanied the boys to the station to see them off. With flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes, these girls had stood huddled together like a flock of snowbirds, watching the friendly scuffle and giving a little squeal occasionally when a snowball came too close to them.

Fred looked at his sister coldly. He was very fond of Betty, but