"
The Boy went back and looked at the slim body of the dead coon with
wonder.
"Why did this one fight so much harder than the ones on the bank?" he
asked thoughtfully.
"'Cause she's their mother," Tom said casually, "an' them's her two
children."
Something hurt deep down in the Boy's soul as he looked at the graceful
nose and the red-stained fur at her throat. He saw his mother's straight
neck and head outlined again against the starlit sky the night she stood
before him rifle in hand and shot at that midnight prowler.
His mouth closed firmly and he spoke with bitter decision:
"I don't like coon hunting. I'm not coming any more."
"Good Lord, Boy, we got ter have skins h'ain't we?" was the hearty
answer.
"I reckon so," he sorrowfully admitted. But all the way home he walked
in brooding silence.
X
The following winter brought the event for which the mother had planned
and about which she had dreamed since her boy was born--a school!
The men gathered on the appointed day, cut the logs and split the boards
for the house. Another day and it was raised and the roof in place.
Tom volunteered to make the teacher's table and chair and benches for
the scholars. He had the best set of tools in the county and he wished
to do it because he knew it would please his wife. There was no money in
it but his life was swiftly passing in that sort of work.
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