Part 3 (2/2)

”'Twasn't,” muttered Hugh John, who was a stickler for accuracy; ”it was a plough-chain!”

”And it rattled,” added Sir Toady Lion, not to be out of the running.

”And just when we were playing nicely, a lot of horrid boys from the town came swarming and clambering in. They had run over the bridge and climbed the gate, and then they began calling us names and throwing mud. So Hugh John said he would tell on them.”

”Didn't,” interrupted Hugh John indignantly. ”I said I'd knock the heads off them if they didn't stop and get out; and they only laughed and said things about father. So I hit one of them with a stone.”

”Then,” continued Priscilla, gaining confidence from a certain curious spark of light which began to burn steadily in her father's eyes, ”after Hugh John threw the stone, the horrid boys all came and said that they would kill us, and that we had no business there anyway.”

”They frowed me down the well, and I went spla.s.s! Yes, indeedy!”

interrupted Toady Lion, who had imagination.

”Then Donald, our black pet lamb, that is, came into the court, and they all ran away after him and caught him. First he knocked down one or two of them, and then they put a rope round his neck and began to take rides on his back.”

”Yes, and he bleated and 'kye-kyed' just feeful!” whimpered Toady Lion, beginning to weep all over again at the remembrance.

But the Smith of the imperial race only clenched his torn hands and looked at his bruised knuckles.

”So Hugh John said he would kill them if they did not let Donald go, and that he was a soldier. But they only laughed louder, and one of them struck him across the lip with a stick--I know him, he's the butch----”

”Shut up, Pris!” shouted Hugh John, with sudden fierceness, ”it's dasht-mean to tell names.”

”Be quiet, sir,” said his father severely; ”let your sister finish her story in her own way.”

But for all that there was a look of some pride on his face. At that moment Mr. Picton Smith was not sorry to have Hugh John for a son.

”Well,” said Priscilla, who had no such scruples as to telling on her enemies, ”I won't tell if you say not. But that was the boy who hurt Donald the worst.”

”Well, I smashed him for that!” muttered Napoleon Smith.

”And then when Hugh John saw them dragging Donald away and heard him bleating----”

”And 'kye-kying' big, big tears, big as cherries!” interjected Toady Lion, who considered every narrative incomplete to which he did not contribute.

”He was overcome with rage and anger”--at this point Priscilla began to talk by the book, the dignity of the epic tale working on her--”and he rushed upon them fearlessly, though they were ten to one; and they all struck him and kicked him. But Hugh John fought like a lion.”

”Yes, like Wichard Toady Lion,” cried the namesake of that hero, ”and I helpted him and bited a bad boy on the leg, and didn't let go though he kicked and hurted feeful! Yes, indeedy!”

”And I went to their a.s.sistance and fought as Hugh John showed me.

And--I forget the rest,” said Priscilla, her epic style suddenly failing her. Also she felt she must begin to cry very soon, now the strain was over. So she made haste to finish. ”But it was dreadful, and they swore, and said they would cut Donald's throat. And one boy took out a great knife and said he knew how to do it. He was the butch----”

”Shut up, Pris! Now don't you dare!” shouted Hugh John, in his most warning tones.

”And when Hugh John rushed in to stop him, he hit him over the head with a stick, and Hugh John fell down. And, oh! I thought he was dead, and I didn't know what to do” (Priscilla was crying in good earnest now); ”and I ran to him and tried to lift him up. But I could not--he was so wobbly and soft.”

”I bited the boy's leg. It was dood. I bited hard!” interrupted Toady Lion, whose mission had been vengeance.

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