’I don’t think there’s any fellers left for you to fight with, so you’re pretty safe.  Besides, it was only Tom Larken, who set them on to try and get your button from you, and he’s gone off to another part of the country now.’

‘I think, p’raps,’ went on Teddy slowly, as he turned over on his back and looked up at the clear blue sky above him, ’that I wasn’t quite true about the bullets.  I think it was six bullets and three sword cuts.  I forget when I tell it how many it was; but she said she didn’t believe a word!’

Five o’clock struck by the old church clock close by.  Teddy was upon his feet in an instant, and with a wild whoop and shout he was scudding across the green, his curls flying in the wind, and his little feet hardly seeming to touch the ground.  There was none in the village so quick-footed as Teddy, and for daring feats and downright pluck he held the foremost place.  Perhaps this accounted for his popularity, perhaps it was his marvellous aptitude for telling stories, many of them wild productions from his fertile brain, but certain it was that he was the pet and the darling of the village, and none as yet had resisted his sway.

Over the green, up a shady lane, across two fields, and then, breathless and panting, Teddy paused before an old-fashioned farmhouse.  He passed his hands lightly through his curls, pulled himself up with a jerk, and then quietly and sedately opened a latched door and entered the long low-roofed kitchen.

There was something very restful in the scene.  A square substantial table covered with a white cloth, in the centre a large bowl of roses and honeysuckle:  home-made bread and golden butter, a glass dish of honey in its comb, a plate of fresh watercress, and a currant loaf completed the simple fare.  Presiding at the tea-tray was a stern, forbidding-looking woman of sixty or more, opposite her was seated her son, the master of the farm, a heavy-faced, sleepy-looking man; and at his side, facing the door, sat Teddy’s mother.  A sweet gentle-faced young woman she was, with the same deep blue eyes as her little son; she bore no resemblance to the elder woman, and looked, as she indeed was, superior to her surroundings.  Two years ago she had come with her child to make her home amongst her husband’s people, and though at first her mother-in-law, Mrs. Platt, was inclined to look upon her contemptuously as a poor, delicate, useless creature, time proved to her that for steady, quiet work no one could eclipse her daughter-in-law.  Young Mrs. John, as she was called, was now her right hand, and the dairy work of the farm was made over entirely to her.

‘Late again, you young scamp!’ was the stern greeting of his grandmother, as Teddy appeared on the scene.

The boy looked at her with a twinkle in his eye, put his little hand to his forehead, and gave her a military salute.

‘Sorry,’ was all he said as he slipped into the chair that was waiting for him.