CHAPTER VII.

COMING TO BLOWS.

Unfortunately, they were not _all_ having a song together down in that shady copse.

Faith had, indeed, been coerced into joining the chorus; with Jack shouting it into one ear, and Di shrieking into the other, it would have been vain to resist, but Andrew was as dumb as a fish.

If he had had a grain of sense he would have _scored_ off his tormentors by joining lustily in the song against himself, but instead of that, he swelled with silent rage, whilst he reflected on the best way of avenging this insult.

His first step in that direction was to round on Hubert, and fling him head foremost into a thicket of brambles. Hubert’s hearty “Let him be caught,” etc., turned abruptly into a dolorous howl, which served as the signal for opening hostilities.

Down from his branch clambered Phil, and by the time Faith had rescued battered Hubert from his thorny surroundings, Andrew was struggling in the strong clutches of his cousins.

“Leave Andrew alone, do boys,” besought Fay and Phoena in one breath. By this time, the offender was stretched full length on the ground, but Di, whose sense of justice was always greater than that of mercy, declared that Andrew ought not to be let off.

Even little Marygold, strong in her unfailing loyalty to Hubert, piped out shrilly that “he ought to be made to say that he was _dreffully_ sorry, before he was released.”

“Of course, he must offer a humble apology,” said Phil, digging each of his knees into Andrew’s sides, and shaking his arms violently to and fro above his prostrate head, whilst Jack was adjusting what he called “hobbles” upon his victim’s feet. “It was beastly mean of you,” went on Phil, “to attack one of the infants, and if you won’t apologise as you should, we’ll help you to.”

“Yes,” chimed in Jack, “you can take your choice entirely. You can either stay where you are, and you must be jolly comfortable, I am sure,”--here Jack seated himself on Andrew’s fettered feet,--“till we are all tired of sitting on you, by turns, or you may now and at once accept our terms and regain your liberty. Make your choice.”

“He must have the terms read over to him,” said Di. “Phil, dictate them!”

“Don’t please hurt him really,” put in the forgiving Hubert, “because the scratches have done hurting now.”

“Recommendations to mercy are not in order now,” ruled Jack, with a gesture of command. “Shut up, will you!”--this to Andrew, who was wriggling with all his might beneath the weight of his captors, “Di, come here!”

After exchanging a few whispers with Jack, Di returned to her former position under the oak, and, taking up her pen and paper, proceeded to note the articles of the treaty. They were soon ready.

“These terms,” said Jack, taking the paper from Di, “are far too lenient, but let me state at once, that no interruption on the part of the public will be allowed to interfere with the course of justice.” Then, clearing his throat, he began, “Prisoner on the ground, the chief end and aim in administering justice being the restoration of peace to the public, we do here invite you to return to your former position in our midst, as a free and law-abiding citizen, on the following conditions. That you shall, in the first place, repeat after me, in such words as I shall dictate, a full apology to Hubert, for the dastardly assault upon his person, whereby you sought to do him grievous bodily harm; and, in the second place, that you shall, in a clear voice, and with due emphasis, rehearse after Diana the said Diana’s spirited verses, setting forth your evil deeds, the audience assisting you at the close of each separate verse with a repetition of the chorus. Prisoner on the ground, give tongue, do you accept our terms, yea or nay?”

“Get off, will you,” cried Andrew, who was perilously near tears. “Faith, they’re suffocating me.”

“Oh! Jack,” interposed Faith, “do leave him alone, you will hurt--”

“My dear Faith, his well-being is in no one’s hands but his own,” said Jack, emphasizing this statement with a rapid rise and fall of his person on the unfortunate Andrew’s chest, “what’s simpler? he has only to accept our terms, and then he rises a free man.”

“Fa-a-ith, I’m suf-fo-cating,” gasped the culprit.

“Oh! please, please,” besought Marygold, with clasped hands, and terror in her face, “do let him go now.”

“You say,” began Jack, “that--”

“I’ll say I’m sorry,” gasped Andrew, “on condit--”

“No, no conditions,” broke in Jack, “you must--”

“Look here, boys, it really isn’t fair,” said Faith, “you’re two to one, and you know that Andrew isn’t half as strong as either of you.”

“Yes,” added Phoena, “and if you go on bullying him much more, it’s acting rather as he did to Hubert.”

“Well, there’s something in that,” admitted Jack, “after all, Phil, it’s only poor Annie, and it’s just a girl’s trick to knock over one of the infants to show her strength.”

“Yes, just the sort of thing a little girl would do,” echoed Phil, “here, get up, Miss Annie, we’ll forgive you. Lend me a hand, Jack, we must help a lady to rise properly.”

Therewith Jack seized one luckless arm, whilst Phil held fast the other, so between them the “lady” was certainly assisted to rise, with good will, if not exactly with courtesy!

“And now we’ll conclude this entertainment,” said Jack, “with a new kind of _rock-it_” and with a significant wink at Phil, they set to work to shake Andrew backwards and forwards between them, till every tooth in his head must have trembled in its socket.

And all the time they sang loudly in his ears, to a tune of their own, the offending chorus of Di’s song.

Though Andrew was a year older, and much taller than Jack, and “twice as fat as both he and Phil put together,” as his cousins always assured him, the treatment received at their hands so far cowed him, that once released, he slunk away without a word.

But, coward as he was, he could not resist the temptation of pinching Marygold’s arm viciously as he passed behind her.

“Oh! oh! he did pinch me hard,” she cried, with a very pink face and quivering lips. She would have spilt her blood to avenge any injury inflicted upon Hubert, but she struck no blow to avenge her own. “You are a werry mean boy,” she said, “but p’raps you can’t help it, for I heard Ruth say that you seemed a poor house-lamb sort of young gentleman.”

Possibly this withering remark hit Andrew harder than her small fists could have done.

Phil and Jack greeted this statement with a roar of approving laughter, which Andrew, happily, did not see fit to resent.

Clearly his recent chastisement had made him, _temporarily_, a wiser, as well as a sadder boy.