“Never mind,” said Arthur to Joe, as they retreated fighting toward the printing office; “I think they’ve had time to run off the edition, provided Smith was ready with the forms.”

The mob was by this time in an ugly mood and the nearer Joe and Arthur edged toward the printing office the more numerous their enemies became.  The Millville people were getting rather the worst of the scrimmage when out rushed Thursday Smith, swinging a stout iron bar he had taken from the press, and with this terrible weapon he struck out so vigorously that the diversion in their favor enabled the retreating villagers to gain the office, where Booth and Bob West fired several shots that effectually checked the mob.

“Stand back, ye villains!” cried a loud voice, as Major Doyle marched calmly down the road from the mill; “how dare ye interfere with a gentleman?”

One of the leaders confronted him menacingly.  The major slapped his face with the flat of his hand and then kicked the fellow in the shins.

“Didn’t I say to get out o’ my way?” he roared, and to the surprise of everyone—­even the major, perhaps—­they fell hack and allowed him to walk leisurely into the printing office.

Having succeeded in their primary attempt to cut the wire, and finding the determined band of defenders more dangerous than they had thought, the workmen retreated in the direction of Royal, where there was more to be gained by rioting than in Millville.

When at last the town was clear of them, Arthur, who was considerably battered and bruised but pleased with the triumphant ending of the adventure, drove the girls and the major to the farm.  They urged Hetty to accompany them, but she declared she was not a bit nervous and preferred to sleep at the hotel.

“I think the trouble is over for to-night,” said West, and all agreed with him.  Cox and Booth decided to sleep in the printing office, and after the girls had driven away with their escorts and the villagers had dispersed to their homes, Thursday put on his coat and walked to the hotel with Hetty.

“All that row was about me,” he remarked disconsolately.

“But they didn’t get you,” said Hetty, triumph in her voice.

“No.”

He did not mention her bravery, or the loyal support of Beth and Patsy, but after a moment he added:  “I’m not worth defending.”

“How do you know?” asked Hetty.  “It occurs to me, Mr. Smith, that you are as much a stranger to yourself as to us.”

“That is true.”

“And in emergencies you are not averse to defending others.  Of course Miss DeGraf and her cousin wanted the paper printed, at all hazards.  I don’t blame them for that; but I—­”

She hesitated.

“You simply stood by a comrade.  Thank you, Hetty.”

“Good night, Thursday.”

“Will you be able to sleep to-night?”

“I’m going straight to bed.  The rumpus has quieted my nerves.”