flattered the proudest boast of his little life, and was a bit of strategy which never failed to reassure him.
"Morgan; he insists on 'Stub', and wants a fight."
He sat down on the side of her chair, coiled his arm about her neck, and with his round, red check resting comfortably against her shoulder, described the situation. Judy acknowledged a thrill of sympathy at the condition of affairs, and agreed to enter no protest against their better adjustment.
His mind at ease respecting her attitude in the matter, his next move was to cultivate the society of a half-dozen doubtful spirits, respected only for their skill in sundry tricks of boyish warfare. With these he held frequent council in the roomy loft of the barn, greatly to the alarm and annoyance of Annie, the beautiful chestnut mare, in the stable below, who was Kit's particular pride and special property. He had no foolish confidence in his own prowess as opposed to that of the young giant he proposed to lay low, and the purpose of this first step in his plan of action was to make himself master of the honourable science of wrestling that potent art in serving the ends of agility against amplitude. Becoming familiar, however, with the startling efficacy of certain not altogether legitimate manoeuvres of which his youthful instructors were the proud exponents, he found himself possessed at moments of a moral fear lest he should be tempted to resort to similar irregularities with Morgan in case honest means should get the worst of it.
And when, during one unusually exciting session, little Ted Wilson, overhearing an uncomplimentary allusion to himself, suddenly brought his detractors sprawling to earth by a sly play of the tip of his boot, Kit could not control his enthusiasm, but threw up his hat and gave utterance to the most emphatic expression of approval in his vocabulary:
