THE ERRAND BOY

Phil Brent was plodding through the snow in the direction of the house where he lived with his step-mother and her son, when a snow-ball, moist and hard, struck him just below his ear with stinging emphasis. The pain was considerable, and Phil's anger rose.

  He turned suddenly, his eyes flashing fiercely, intent upon discovering who had committed this outrage, for he had no doubt that it was intentional.

  He looked in all directions, but saw no one except a mild old gentleman in spectacles, who appeared to have some difficulty in making his way through the obstructed street.

  Phil did not need to be told that it was not the old gentleman who had taken such an unwarrantable liberty with him. So he looked farther, but his ears gave him the first clew.

  He heard a chuckling laugh, which seemed to proceed from behind the stone wall that ran along the roadside.

  "I will see who it is," he decided, and plunging through the snow he surmounted the wall, in time to see a boy of about his own age running away across the fields as fast as the deep snow would allow.

  "So it's you, Jonas!" he shouted wrathfully. "I thought it was some sneaking fellow like you."

  Jonas Webb, his step-brother, his freckled face showing a degree of dismay, for he had not calculated on discovery, ran the faster, but while fear winged his steps, anger proved the more effectual spur, and Phil overtook him after a brief run, from the effects of which both boys panted.

  "What made you throw that snow-ball?" demanded Phil angrily, as he seized Jonas by the collar and shook him.

  "You let me alone!" said Jonas, struggling ineffectually in his grasp.

  "Answer me! What made you throw that snowball?" demanded Phil, in a tone that showed he did not intend to be trifled with.