It was not Tom’s wish to use his sword, but he applied his good cudgel freely to the back of the bully, who was more his own height and make than any of the others.  Bully Bullen swore, and raved, and threatened, and made ineffectual efforts to draw his rapier and run his antagonist through the body.  But he had been drinking, and neither hand nor eye were steady; whilst Tom’s clutch upon his coat collar, as he kept swinging him half off his feet, and laying his stout staff to his back, almost throttled him, and rendered his efforts abortive.

Once Slippery Seal showed himself worthy of his name, by slipping through the clutches of Harry, and dashing to get a good blow at Tom, for whom these four worthies had conceived a powerful hatred; but Tom saw the advance, and cleverly swerved round, so that the blow descended upon the luckless Bullen, who roared anew with rage and pain.

“Let them go now! let them go!” cried Rosamund at last, half frightened at the scrimmage, and almost ready to pity the ruffians, who were getting so much the worst of it.

Lusty William had quickly laid Dicing Dick prostrate on mother earth, and was giving a drubbing to Thirsty Thring, who was helpless in his stout grasp.  This attack, so unexpected and so resolute, had quite taken the wind out of the sails of the blustering four; and when, at Rosamund’s cry, their antagonists paused and gave to each a parting kick, they had no desire to do anything but slink away with bruised shoulders—­black rage in their hearts.

“If ever you come prowling here again, I’ll have my men and my dogs out at you!” bawled William, whose blood was well up.  “I live handily, just behind yon clump of trees.  Rosamund has but to lift up her voice in a good screech, and I’ll loose every dog in the place upon you!  You’ll not forget the feel of their fangs so soon as you’ll forget the feel of my cudgel!”

That threat was quite enough for the bullies, they almost began to run; but so soon as they had put the fence between themselves and their antagonists, they paused and looked back, shaking their fists in vindictive fury.

They seemed to divine that Tom was in some sort the originator of this plan, and towards him was their chief malevolence directed.

“We will have our revenge for this, Tom Tufton!” they cried.  “It’s your turn today, but it will be ours another.  You shall rue the day you made enemies of us!”

“Do your worst!” cried Tom scornfully.  “Do you think I fear any such ruffians as you?”

“Strike me purple!” raged Bully Bullen, using an oath which had come into vogue since the terrible days of the Plague, “if I do not make you bitterly repent this day’s work, you insolent young coxcomb!”

“Get off with you, or I call my dogs!” cried William, who saw that Rosamund’s cheeks were growing pale; and at this hint the bullies made the best of their way out of sight, never to be seen again in the neighbourhood where so many perils awaited them.