I could never understand why Felix took Peter's success in the of Bitter Apples so much to heart. He had not felt very keenly over the matter of the sermons, and certainly the fact that Peter could eat sour apples without making faces did not cast any reflection on the honour or ability of the other competitors. But to Felix everything suddenly became flat, stale, and unprofitable, because Peter continued to hold the championship of bitter apples. It haunted his waking hours and his nights. I heard him talking in his sleep about it. If anything could have made him thin the way he worried over this matter would have done it.  
For myself, I cared not a groat. I had wished to be successful in the sermon contest, and felt sore whenever I thought of my failure. But I had no burning desire to eat sour apples without , and I did not sympathize over and above with my brother. When, however, he took to praying about it, I realized how deeply he felt on the subject, and hoped he would be successful.
 
Felix prayed earnestly that he might be enabled to eat a bitter apple without making a face. And when he had prayed three nights after this manner, he to eat a bitter apple without a until he came to the last bite, which proved too much for him. But Felix was vastly encouraged.
 
"Another prayer or two, and I'll be able to eat a whole one," he said jubilantly.
 
But this desired consummation did not come to pass. In spite of prayers and heroic attempts, Felix could never get beyond that last bite. Not even faith and works in combination could avail. For a time he could not understand this. But he thought the mystery was solved when Cecily came to him one day and told him that Peter was praying against him.
 
"He's praying that you'll never be able to eat a bitter apple without making a face," she said. "He told Felicity and Felicity told me. She said she thought it was real cute of him. I think that is a dreadful way to talk about praying and I told her so. She wanted me to promise not to tell you, but I wouldn't promise, because I think it's fair for you to know what is going on."
 
Felix was very indignant—and as well.
 
"I don't see why God should answer Peter's prayers instead of mine," he said bitterly. "I've gone to church and Sunday School all my life, and Peter never went till this summer. It isn't fair."
 
"Oh, Felix, don't talk like that," said Cecily, shocked. "God MUST be fair. I'll tell you what I believe is the reason. Peter prays three times a day regular—in the morning and at dinner time and at night—and besides that, any time through the day when he happens to think of it, he just prays, up. Did you ever hear of such goings-on?"
 
"Well, he's got to stop praying against me, anyhow," said Felix . "I won't put up with it, and I'll go and tell him so right off."
 
Felix marched over to Uncle Roger's, and we trailed after, a scene. We found Peter shelling beans in the granary, and whistling cheerily, as with a conscience void of offence towards all men.
 
"Look here, Peter," said Felix , "they tell me that you've been praying right along that I couldn't eat a bitter apple. Now, I tell you—"
 
"I never did!" exclaimed Peter indignantly. "I never mentioned your name. I never prayed that you couldn't eat a bitter apple. I just prayed that I'd be the only one that could."
 
"Well, that's the same thing," cried Felix. "You've just been praying for the opposite to me out of spite. And you've got to stop it, Peter Craig."
 
"Well, I just guess I won't," said Peter angrily. "I've just as good a right to pray for what I want as you, Felix King, even if you was brought up in Toronto. I s'pose you think a hired boy hasn't any business to pray for particular things, but I'll show you. I'll just pray for what I please, and I'd like to see you try and stop me."
 
"You'll have to fight me, if you keep on praying against me," said Felix.
 
The girls ; but Dan and I were jubilant, snuffing battle afar off.
 
"All right. I can fight as well as pray."
 
"Oh, don't fight," Cecily. "I think it would be dreadful. Surely you can arrange it some other way. Let's all give up the Ordeal, anyway. There isn't much fun in it. And then neither of you need pray about it."
 
"I don't want to give up the Ordeal," said Felix, "and I won't."
 
"Oh, well, surely you can settle it some way without fighting," persisted Cecily.
 
"I'm not wanting to fight," said Peter. "It's Felix. If he don't with my prayers there's no need of fighting. But if he does there's no other way to settle it."
 
"But how will that settle it?" asked Cecily.
 
"Oh, whoever's licked will have to give in about the praying," said Peter. "That's fair enough. If I'm licked I won't pray for that particular thing any more."
 
"It's dreadful to fight about anything so religious as praying," sighed poor Cecily.
 
"Why, they were always fighting about religion in old times," said Felix. "The more religious anything was the more fighting there was about it."
 
"A fellow's got a right to pray as he pleases," said Peter, "and if anybody tries to stop him he's bound to fight. That's my way of looking at it."
 
"What would Miss Marwood say if she knew you were going to fight?" asked Felicity.
 
Miss Marwood was Felix' Sunday School teacher and he was very fond of her. But by this time Felix was quite reckless.
 
"I don't care what she would say," he retorted.
 
Felicity tried another .
 
"You'll be sure to get whipped if you fight with Peter," she said. "You're too fat to fight."
 
After that, no moral force on earth could have prevented Felix from fighting. He would have faced an army with banners.
 
"You might settle it by drawing lots," said Cecily .
 
"Drawing lots is wickeder that fighting," said Dan. "It's a kind of ."
 
"What would Aunt Jane say if she knew you were going to fight?"
Cecily demanded of Peter.
"Don't you drag my Aunt Jane into this affair," said Peter darkly.
 
"You said you were going to be a Presbyterian," persisted Cecily.
"Good Presbyterians don't fight."
"Oh, don't they! I heard your Uncle Roger say that Presbyterians were the best for fighting in the world—or the worst, I forget which he said, but it means the same thing."
 
Cecily had but one more shot in her .
 
"I thought you said in your sermon, Master Peter, that people shouldn't fight."
 
"I said they oughtn't to fight for fun, or for bad temper," retorted Peter. "This is different. I know what I'm fighting for but I can't think of the word."
 
"I guess you mean principle," I suggested.
 
"Yes, that's it," agreed Peter. "It's all right to fight for principle. It's kind of praying with your fists."
 
"Oh, can't you do something to prevent them from fighting, Sara?" pleaded Cecily, turning to the Story Girl, who was sitting on a , swinging her shapely bare feet to and fro.
 
"It doesn't do to in an affair of this kind between boys," said the Story Girl .
 
I may be mistaken, but I do not believe the Story Girl wanted that fight stopped. And I am far from being sure that Felicity did either.
 
It was ultimately arranged that the combat should take place in the fir wood behind Uncle Roger's granary. It was a nice, remote, bosky place where no prowling grown-up would be likely to . And we all resorted at sunset.
 
"I hope Felix will beat," said the Story Girl to me, "not only for the family honour, but because that was a mean, mean prayer of Peter's. Do you think he will?"
 
"I don't know," I confessed . "Felix is too fat. He'll get out of breath in no time. And Peter is such a cool customer, and he's a year older than Felix. But then Felix has had some practice. He has fought boys in Toronto. And this is Peter's first fight."
 
"Did you ever fight?" asked the Story Girl.
 
"Once," I said , the next question, which came.
 
"Who beat?"
 
It is sometimes a bitter thing to tell the truth, especially to a young lady for whom you have a great . I had a struggle with temptation in which I confess I might have been worsted had it not been for a saving and timely remembrance of a certain resolution made on the day preceding Sunday.
 
"The other fellow," I said with reluctant honesty.
 
"Well," said the Story Girl, "I think it doesn't matter whether you get whipped or not so long as you fight a good, square fight."
 
Her voice made me feel that I was quite a hero after all, and the sting went out of my recollection of that old fight.
 
When we arrived behind the granary the others were all there. Cecily was very pale, and Felix and Peter were taking off their coats. There was a pure yellow sunset that evening, and the of the fir wood were flooded with its radiance. A cool, autumnal wind was whistling among the dark and blood red leaves from the at the end of the granary.
 
"Now," said Dan, "I'll count, and when I say three you pitch in, and hammer each other until one of you has had enough. Cecily, keep quiet. Now, one—two—three!"
 
Peter and Felix "pitched in," with more than on both sides. As a result, Peter got what later developed into a black eye, and Felix's nose began to bleed. Cecily gave a and ran out of the wood. We thought she had fled because she could not endure the sight of blood, and we were not sorry, for her manifest and anxiety were damping ............