My father, determined to teach the rascal a lesson for once, had him arrested and brought to court.

The boy was locked up overnight, and he emerged from his brief imprisonment with a respect for the rights and persons of his neighbors.

But the moral of this incident lies not herein.

What interested me more than my revenge on a bully was what I saw of the way in which justice was actually administered in the United States.

Here we were gathered in the little courtroom, bearded Arlington Street against wool-headed Arlington Street; accused and accuser, witnesses, sympathizers, sight-seers, and all.