minutes more, the enraged man who tried to run by them drove up, and entered.

"I've a good will to thrash you boys," he shouted at the top of his voice.

The boys were very much surprised to see him in such a passion.

"What are you going to thrash us for?" answered Edwin.

"Thrash you for, you insulting scamps? I'll let you know," and he shook his fist in the liveliest manner, at the same time belching forth a volley of oaths, that we omit, since they did not embellish his language, though they contributed some force to it.

"Why didn't you let me go by, you young rascals?" he continued.

"You had plenty of room to pass; as much room as we had, and the same right to the road," replied James, coolly.

"But I couldn't," the fellow bellowed; "you goodfor-nothing brats."

"That's not our fault," returned James. "Better blame your horse."

The latter sentence had a ring of sarcasm in it, especially as the boys laughed when it was spoken; and the brutal man stormed again, and swore he would thrash them.

"Better thrash me first," said James, straightening himself up to his full height, and appearing more like a strong man than a boy of fourteen years. The bully looked at him for a moment, as if querying whether his antagonist was not a man, after all.

"Why take you first?" he said, apparently some what cowed.

Because you will never want to thrash him after wards," answered James, in the most thundering voice he could roll out. The bully turned upon his heels, jumped into his carriage, and drove on.

James and Edwin were soon on their way home, their conversation being upon the unusual experience of the last hour.

"I was glad that you scared him so," remarked Edwin. "He was a regular coward."

"I knew he was a coward when we were talking with him," James replied. "If I hadn't, I should have kept still. I don't like to get into trouble with anybody."

"I thought you were terribly courageous, for you," remarked Edwin. "You roared at him like thunder. Your big voice is enough to frighten any coward."

"I hope that it will never frighten anybody else," was the only reply that James made.

James was in no sense a bully, nor was he given to brag. There was no boy in Orange township more gentlemanly and considerate than he; none more averse to pugilistic contests. At the same time, he would stand up for his rights, and the rights of others. He would defend his companions, too, with great courage, if they were in the right. If they were wrong, he would not defend them at all; and he would frankly state his reason. These facts sufficiently explain his encounter with the bully at the hotel.

CHAPTER X.

A BLACK-SALTER.

HE following colloquy will explain a matter that must not be omitted.

"I have come again for James," said Mr. Smith, entering Mrs. Garfield's cottage. "Can't get along without him, when we weed the peppermint."

"Well, James will be glad to help you. if he can, but he is pretty busy now on the farm," answered Mrs. Garfield.

"Perhaps he can squeeze out two or three days now, and that will help me through," continued Mr. Smith. "I shall have twenty boys in the

gang."

"I should think that was enough without James," remarked Mrs. Garfield.

"It's altogether too many if I don't have him," replied Mr. Smith. "You see, the boys do as well again when James leads them. Somehow he has wonderful influence over them."

"I didn't know that," remarked Mrs. Garfield.

"Well, it's true: and if you should see him leading off, and interesting them by stories, anecdotes, and

fun, you'd be surprised. He is a fast worker, and all the boys put in and work as hard as they can to keep up, that they may hear his stories. The boys think the world of him."

"I'm glad to hear such good things of him," remarked Mrs. Garfield. "I'm willing that he should help you if he can."

"I shouldn't mind paying him something extra if he will come," Mr. Smith continued. "I can afford to do that. Each boy does more work, and where there's twenty of them, it's considerable in my pocket."

"Well, you can find James, he is somewhere on the farm; and I'm willing he should go if you can fix it with him," said Mrs. Garfield.

Mr. Smith went in search of James, and found him hard at work in the field. Making known his errand, James could not see how it was possible for him to go, at least for a week. But Mr. Smith soon removed his objections, and arranged for him to come the next day.

This Mr. Smith was a farmer, and his land, on the Chagrin Flats, was adapted to the cultivation of peppermint, which he raised for the market in large quantities. It was necessary to keep it thoroughly weeded, and for this purpose he employed a gang of boys at different times in the season. James had served him more than once in that work, and the shrewd farmer had noticed that the gang would try to keep up with James, so as to hear his stories and interesting conversation. James was a capital story. teller, and all that he ever read or studied was in his

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head. His remarkable memory served him a g purpose in company, whether in the field of pep mint, or elsewhere. He could recall almost ny anecdote that he ever heard, and could relate w atever he had learned about his own or other count ies from Morse's Geography. Add to this his j ial nature, his conversational powers, and his singular tact, and we can readily understand how he could "lead the gang."

So James became general of the peppermint brigade for a few days, to accommodate Mr. Smith, and again his precocity and large acquisitions of knowledge enabled him to lead them to victory over the weeds. The weeds melted away before their triumphant march, as the rebels disappeared before the Ohio Forty-second Regiment, sixteen years afterwards.

We said that James assisted Mr. Treat to build a shed, in addition to the several barns. The shed was the last building on which he worked for Mr. Treat, and it was about ten miles from home, near Cleveland. It was an addition to quite a large potashery, the largest in all that region. A pot-ashery was an establishment containing vats for leeching ashes, and large kettles for boiling the lye, reducing it to potash, which, in its crude state, was called "black-salts." The manufacturer of the article was called a "black-salter." The farmers in the region, when they cleared land, drew the logs and branches of trees together into huge piles, and burned them, for the ashes they could collect therefrom, which they sold to the black-salters.