BARNEY'S FOOT.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

"Come on, Barney."

"You're on our side. We knew you'd get here, and we counted you."

"And Sid Thayer, he said you belonged with them this time, but we said you wasn't an up-town boy, and we wouldn't stand it."

There was something rueful in the face of Barney Powell as he stood there with his hands in his pockets looking across the village green.

There was a game of foot-ball just about to begin, and Barney was conceded to be the best kicker for his size in all Hackerton.

Then he had always played as a down-town boy, although his father kept the drug store in the middle of the village, and lived next door to it, and the up-town boys said the drug store was on their land. It was two rods north of the middle stone-walk across the green.

"Well, no, boys, I guess I won't play foot-ball to-day."

"Not play!" exclaimed Wash Handy, opening his mouth unusually wide. "Anything the matter? Got new boots on?"

"Guess he's got a sore toe," remarked Sid Thayer. "He did kick like everything Saturday."

"I don't know as I want to kick any more all this vacation. Not unless my foot gets over it."

"Gets over what, Barney?"

"What? why, kicking."

"Which foot is it?"

"I don't seem to know exactly. Mebbe it's one, and then I ain't half sure it isn't the other."

"Queer you can't tell."

"Well, you know how we played last Saturday, nigh all day?"

"Best day for foot-ball there ever was in this town."

"Well, I kicked and I kicked, and I was awful tired when I got home; but I didn't know anything was the matter with my feet till after I got to bed."

"Did they hurt you then?"

"Hurt? no, not a mite. But little Phin, he sleeps with me, and I don't know just how long it was before I was waked up by a great squall. It was dark as pitch, but I knew it was Phin's voice, and I felt around the bed for him."

"Did you find him?"

"No, sir! He wasn't there; he was drawing his breath for another squall away out on the floor. And mother, she came running in, and so did grandmother, and Aunt Jane, and old Mrs. Wiggles. She's a-visiting at our house, and she does eat! You never saw anything like it, and she's as long as a bean-pole, and just about as fat. And father, he waked up, and he wanted to know what the matter was, but he didn't come in."

"Well," said Wash Handy, "what was the matter?"

"Matter? I guess you'd ha' said so. I'd just took Phin for a foot-ball, and I'd kicked him half way across the room. He's round and fat, and he lit on a soft place, I guess, for he didn't squall any more, except when old Mrs. Wiggles hugged him. He was more scared than hurt, for I'd taken my boots off before I went to bed."

"Oh, pshaw! Barney, what of all that? Let's go in. We'll have the tallest kind of a game."

"Well, no, Wash, I guess not. I haven't got through yet. Mother let Aunt Jane take little Phin into her bed, and father he said something about hobbling me if I couldn't mind my hoofs any better'n that; but I guess I didn't do anything worse'n kick the clothes off till morning. But you see, boys, I was pretty sure they'd all be laughing at me at breakfast, and I guess I wasn't in any too good a humor, and there was the big rug at the dining-room door all rolled up in a wad. You couldn't ha' guessed that Aunt Jane's brindle-yellow tomcat was inside of it. That is, you wouldn't have guessed it before you heard the yowl he gave when he dropped into the big rose-bush in front of the dining-room door."

"Did you kick him as far as that?" asked Sid Thayer, doubtfully. "Come, now, Barney, play on our side to-day."

"No, sir! But you ought to have seen Aunt Jane run out to pick up her cat, and he making a brindle-yellow streak for the back fence."

"Didn't kill him, then?"

"Kill him? No, sir! You don't kick anything more'n a howl out of a cat with a big rug wrapped 'round him. But you see, boys, after that I hadn't a word to say, and the rest of them could say just what they wanted to. I kept an eye on my feet, and I couldn't say which was which, only there's more leather worn off the right toe than the left.

"By-and-by it was time to go to meeting, and I went, and our pew was jam-full, and I had to sit as straight as a ramrod, and I had both my feet right before me on the foot-bar. Nothing happened all the morning, but when we went again in the afternoon Mrs. Wiggles, she came along, and there wasn't room for me in our pew. So I slipped into Deacon Clark's, just ahead of ours, and none of his folks came, and I had it all to myself."

"But you didn't dare to lie down?" said Wash.

"I guess not; but it was dreadfully warm, and I'd heard Mr. Simmons preach that sermon three times, only with different texts, and it kind o' made me feel sleepy to hear it again; but I can't guess what sort of wood they made that pew out of."

"Why, of course not; it's all painted black walnut," said Sid Thayer.

"'Tisn't the paint, Sid; and there isn't any wood I know of that has that amount of racket in it."

"Now, Barney Powell, what on earth do you mean?"

"Mean? You'd have said it was mean if you'd been waked up in the middle of a sermon the way I was. I must have been dreaming of foot-ball seems to me, for I'd tried to put one of my toes right through the back of the next pew, and the noise it made was—well, boys, I can't say how much there was of it, but they must have started that pew for a drum. I sat straight up and looked at Mr. Simmons, but he'd stopped preaching, and he was looking at me, and I heard father coughing fit to kill himself; and ma, she had her head down, and Mrs. Wiggles whispered, 'Sakes alive!' to Aunt Jane, and she said, 'Any boy that'll abuse a cat like mine'; and if I didn't wish that pew was curtained in you may eat me."

"Did they turn you out?"

"Well, no; but on the way home I heard Mrs. Wiggles tell ma she was afraid how I would turn out if I grew up the way I'd begun. I walked slow all the rest of the day, for fear one of my feet would get away from me again."

"Oh, pshaw!" said Sid Thayer. "Foot-ball didn't do it. I tell you what's the matter. There's too much kick in you naturally. You can't help it. And if you don't play foot-ball or something of that sort you'll never work it out, and it'll be always making some sort of trouble for you."

"Do you s'pose that's it?"

"Of course it is. I've heard people say such things ever so many times. Just you come right along now, on our side, and there won't be half so much kicking in you when you get through."

"No, sir!" shouted Wash Handy. "Barney's on our side. We've got the ball mended, Barney. It kicks beautiful!"

"If I thought Phin'd be any safer to-night," hesitated Barney. "But then there's that pew! You never heard such a bang. I don't think the cat'll let me come near enough again unless he's rolled up in something. Did you sew up the rip in the ball, Sid?"

"I? Sew that seam? Look at it! Old Quin did it, the harness-maker. Isn't it lovely? Every stitch as hard as wire! Come on, Barney."

"Well, Sid, the way my feet feel just now I must kick at something, and the down-town boys chose me on their side. We can choose sides over again after the first game. I don't know but it might be good for me."

"Of course it would," shouted Wash Handy. "Hurrah, boys, Barney'll play, and he's on our side. Let's go in and give 'em a whitewashing!"