Jimmy Morris was standing opposite to him , his back braced against the trunk of a big , pink-blossomed apple tree , his hands in his pockets , and a scowl on his freckled face . Jimmy lived next door to Joey and as a rule they were very good friends , but this afternoon they had quarrelled over the right and proper way to construct an Indian ambush in the fir grove behind the pig-house . The argument was long and warm and finally culminated in personalities . Just as John Churchill dropped on one knee behind the hedge , the better to see Joey 's face , Jimmy Morris said scornfully : `` I do n't care what you say . Nobody believes you . Your father is in the penitentiary . '' The taunt struck home as it always did . It was not the first time that Joey had been twitted with his father by his boyish companions . But never before by Jimmy ! It always hurt him , and he had never before made any response to it . His face would flush crimson , his lips would quiver , and his big grey eyes darken miserably with the shadow that was on his life ; he would turn away in silence . But that Jimmy , his best beloved chum , should say such a thing to him ; oh , it hurt terribly . There is nothing so merciless as a small boy . Jimmy saw his advantage and vindictively pursued it . `` Your father stole money , that 's what he did ! You know he did . I 'm pretty glad my father is n't a thief . Your father is . And when he gets out of prison , he 'll go on stealing again . My father says he will .
Nobody 'll have anything XXXXX do with him , my father says .
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