I shall introduce my story by asking the boys to pay particular attention, as I want them to decide whether Jesse Dobbs or Jim Prescott—the two boys whom this story is about—is the true hero.
“Who minds de cold? Come on, Jesse; de boys is going to make up a company and have heaps of fun down by Big Bethel.” I must explain that Big Bethel is the name of a church.
Jesse glanced out at the sunshine and called, “Mammie, mayent I go with Jo down to Big Bethel?”
As the answer was yes, the two bounded away and soon joined several boys, the leader of whom, from his coarse, bloated face to his heavily booted feet, was the very picture of a young ruffian. As Jesse and Jo came up he was saying, “Dare aint a fatter roost to pick den old Judge Gibbs’ in de world; ’sides dat, you ken git 15 cents a piece fur every chick’n. Den you brings de money to me, and I gibs you so much out of it. ’Stand what I say?”
“’Sides dat, dares heaps of fun clearing off a chick’n roost, and I, fur one, aint feared to go into nobody’s yard. Now is you gwine to be ready to-night to follow your captain? I’s your captain.”
“Captain of the roost-clearing brigade; dat’s what. Is you going to jine us, Dobbs? If you aint I’ll most kill you fur coming here to spy into our plans.”
Jesse paused an instant, then he said, “No.”
“Why not, I’d jist like fur to know?” demanded Jim, angrily.
“Because I aint going to jine no thieving company.”
The words were hardly spoken before Jim lifted his foot and kicked him in the side. Kick followed kick in such rapid succession, that Jesse was almost senseless before Jim could be pulled off; and when I formed his acquaintance he had been in bed nine months, a large tumor having formed in the side where he had been kicked. When I asked him about lying so long in bed, he answered:
“At first the time was awful long, but by-and-by I began to take notice how mother worried when I ’plained of de pain and de tiredness, so I took to trying not to ’plain _fore_ her, and that kinder drawed off my ’tention from de pain.”
For nine months he had been trying to help his mother by being patient. Three weeks ago he died from the effects of that cruel kick—died forgiving all who had injured him, and bearing his cross of suffering like a noble little Christian to the end.