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 to at the back of the house. They were at the age when the call of the stomach claimed precedence over every other demand of lusty nature.

Malachi Judson, head of this house, father of these boys, husband of that slender woman whose tired, proud voice had summoned them to supper, was a hard-working man of stalwart frame, a quick temper, and a slow mind. His face, bearded below the jaw line, was cavernous above, and the responsibilities of life had carved anxious wrinkles deep in his bony brow. With scarce a glimpse at his sons when they sidled, belated and slightly, to the table, Malachi was bowed above his food, eating as a man is entitled to eat who has laid bricks alt day.

When the last morsel of corned beef to which he had served himself so liberally was gone from his plate, Malachi, after an audible and gustatory draught from his tea-cup, straightened himself and gazed about him with an air of renewed interest in the world. For the first time he noticed that the faces of his sons bore fresh scratches, sundry discolorations, and certain swellings of obviously recent origin.

"Fighting again? You two brothers! Hain't you ashamed of yourselves?" demanded Malachi.

"But, Pa!" and Jim, who was the older brother, although but little the larger—a lad