insult me? I'm as old as you are!" thundered Billy.
"Yes, we are each eighteen."
"And your mother married at sixteen."
"And she's still only sixteen," said the girl with a sigh.
"Wait a few days and I'll show you whether I'ma man or not," said Billy, with insulted dignity. "Come, your mother is waiting for us at the corner."
Mrs. Wilson stood among a group of boys chatting and joking. She belonged to the type of widows, fair, fat and frivolous. Time had dealt gently with her. She was still handsome in spite of her weight, and intensely jealous lest her serious daughter supplant her in the affections of the youth of Independence.
She greeted Billy with just the words to heal his wounded vanity.
"My! Billy, but you look serious and manly! I'd kiss you if the other boys were not here. You ought to be at the head of that line of white raiders to-night"—she dropped her voice to a whisper—"I'll be making your disguise before long."
Billy turned from Susie and devoted himself with dignity to her mother.
The widow lifted her hand in sudden warning.
"Sh! Billy, the enemy! There goes Stella Butler
