“I hate Dan Reese,” said Walter.

“So do I. All us girls do.  I’m just going to walk past and never take the least notice of him.  You watch me!”

Faith accordingly stalked past Dan with her chin out and an expression of scorn that bit into his soul.  He turned and shouted after her.

“Pig-girl!  Pig-girl!!  Pig-girl!!!” in a crescendo of insult.

Faith walked on, seemingly oblivious.  But her lip trembled slightly with a sense of outrage.  She knew she was no match for Dan Reese when it came to an exchange of epithets.  She wished Jem Blythe had been with her instead of Walter.  If Dan Reese had dared to call her a pig-girl in Jem’s hearing, Jem would have wiped up the dust with him.  But it never occurred to Faith to expect Walter to do it, or blame him for not doing it.  Walter, she knew, never fought other boys.  Neither did Charlie Clow of the north road.  The strange part was that, while she despised Charlie for a coward, it never occurred to her to disdain Walter.  It was simply that he seemed to her an inhabitant of a world of his own, where different traditions prevailed.  Faith would as soon have expected a starry-eyed young angel to pummel dirty, freckled Dan Reese for her as Walter Blythe.  She would not have blamed the angel and she did not blame Walter Blythe.  But she wished that sturdy Jem or Jerry had been there and Dan’s insult continued to rankle in her soul.

Walter was pale no longer.  He had flushed crimson and his beautiful eyes were clouded with shame and anger.  He knew that he ought to have avenged Faith.  Jem would have sailed right in and made Dan eat his words with bitter sauce.  Ritchie Warren would have overwhelmed Dan with worse “names” than Dan had called Faith.  But Walter could not—­simply could not—­“call names.”  He knew he would get the worst of it.  He could never conceive or utter the vulgar, ribald insults of which Dan Reese had unlimited command.  And as for the trial by fist, Walter couldn’t fight.  He hated the idea.  It was rough and painful—­and, worst of all, it was ugly.  He never could understand Jem’s exultation in an occasional conflict.  But he wished he could fight Dan Reese.  He was horribly ashamed because Faith Meredith had been insulted in his presence and he had not tried to punish her insulter.  He felt sure she must despise him.  She had not even spoken to him since Dan had called her pig-girl.  He was glad when they came to the parting of the ways.

Faith, too, was relieved, though for a different reason.  She wanted to be alone because she suddenly felt rather nervous about her errand.  Impulse had cooled, especially since Dan had bruised her self-respect.  She must go through with it, but she no longer had enthusiasm to sustain her.  She was going to see Norman Douglas and ask him to come back to church, and she began to be afraid of him.  What had seemed so easy and simple up at the Glen seemed very