It had been impossible for John to be angry with his uncle, although the punishment and the shame of carrying the news to the other boys he felt to be a too severe penalty.  But here was cause for letting loose righteous anger.  He had meant to wait, having been wisely counselled by his boxing-master to be in no haste to challenge his enemy, until further practice had made success possible; but now his rising wrath overcame his prudence, “Well, try it,” he said.  “You beat me once.  If you think I’ll tell if I am licked, I assure you, you are safe.  I took the whole blame about Billy and I was asked no names.”

Tom hesitated and said, “I never heard that.”

“I will accept an apology,” said John in his most dignified way.  The boys laughed.  John flushed a little, and as Tom remained silent added, “If you won’t, then lick me if you can.”

As he spoke, he slipped off his coat and rolled up his sleeves.  The long lessons in self-defence had given him some confidence and, what was as useful, had developed chest and arms.

“Hit him, Tom,” said the small boy.  In a moment the fight was on, the non-combatants delighted.

To Tom’s surprise his wild blows somehow failed to get home.  It was characteristic of John then as in later days that he became cool as he realized his danger, while Tom quite lost his head as the success of the defence disappointed his attack.  To hit hard, to rush in and throw his enemy, was all he had of the tactics of offence.  The younger lad, untouched, light on his feet, was continually shifting his ground; then at last he struck right and left.  He had not weight enough to knock down his foe, but as Tom staggered, John leaped aside and felt the joy of battle as he got in a blow under the ear and Tom fell.

“Get on him—­hit him,” cried the boys.  “By George, if he ain’t licked!”

John stood still.  Tom rose, and as he made a furious rush at the victor, a loud voice called out, “Halloa! quit that.”

Both boys stood still as Mark Rivers climbed over the fence and stood between them.  John was not sorry for the interruption.  He was well aware that in the rough and tumble of a close he had not weight enough to encounter what would have lost him the fight he had so far won.  He stood still panting, smiling, and happy.

“Hadn’t you boys better shake hands?” said the rector.  Tom, furious, was collecting blood from his nose on his handkerchief.  Neither boy spoke.  “Well, John,” said Rivers waiting.

“I’ll shake hands, sir, when Tom apologizes.”

The rector smiled.  Apologies were hardly understood as endings to village fights.  “He won’t do it,” said John with a glance at the swollen face; “another time I’ll make him.”

“Will you!” exclaimed Tom.

The rector felt that on the whole it might have been better had they fought it out.  Now the peacemaking business was clearly not blessed.  “You are a nice pair of young Christians,” he said.  “At all events, you shall not fight any more to-day.  Come, John.”