It was the next day that Randolph Anderson, on his way home at noon, saw ahead of him, just as he turned the corner from Main to Elm street, where his own house was, a knot of boys engaged in what he at first thought was a fight or its preliminaries.

There was a great clamor, too.

In the boughs of a maple in the near-by yard were two robins wrangling; underneath were the boys.

The air was full of the sweet jangle of birds and boyish trebles, for all the boys were young.

Anderson, as he came up, glanced indifferently at the turbulent group and saw one boy who seemed to be the centre of contention.