Meantime, the farmer and his men steal over the hurdles and creep down the hedge towards the scene of action.  They are almost within a stone’s throw of Martin, who is pressing the unlucky chase hard, when Tom catches sight of them, and sings out, “Louts, ’ware louts, your side!  Madman, look ahead!” and then catching hold of Arthur, hurries him away across the field towards Rugby as hard as they can tear.  Had he been by himself, he would have stayed to see it out with the others, but now his heart sinks and all his pluck goes.  The idea of being led up to the Doctor with Arthur for bagging fowls quite unmans and takes half the run out of him.

However, no boys are more able to take care of themselves than East and Martin; they dodge the pursuers, slip through a gap, and come pelting after Tom and Arthur, whom they catch up in no time.  The farmer and his men are making good running about a field behind.  Tom wishes to himself that they had made off in any other direction, but now they are all in for it together, and must see it out.

“You won’t leave the young un, will you?” says he, as they haul poor little Arthur, already losing wind from the fright, through the next hedge.  “Not we,” is the answer from both.  The next hedge is a stiff one; the pursuers gain horribly on them, and they only just pull Arthur through, with two great rents in his trousers, as the foremost shepherd comes up on the other side.  As they start into the next field, they are aware of two figures walking down the footpath in the middle of it, and recognize Holmes and Diggs taking a constitutional.  Those good-natured fellows immediately shout, “On.”  “Let’s go to them and surrender,” pants Tom.  Agreed.  And in another minute the four boys, to the great astonishment of those worthies, rush breathless up to Holmes and Diggs, who pull up to see what is the matter; and then the whole is explained by the appearance of the farmer and his men, who unite their forces and bear down on the knot of boys.

There is no time to explain, and Tom’s heart beats frightfully quick, as he ponders, “Will they stand by us?”

The farmer makes a rush at East and collars him; and that young gentleman, with unusual discretion, instead of kicking his shins, looks appealingly at Holmes, and stands still.

“Hullo there; not so fast,” says Holmes, who is bound to stand up for them till they are proved in the wrong.  “Now what’s all this about?”

“I’ve got the young varmint at last, have I,” pants the farmer; “why, they’ve been a-skulking about my yard and stealing my fowls—­that’s where ’tis; and if I doan’t have they flogged for it, every one on ’em, my name ain’t Thompson.”

Holmes looks grave and Diggs’s face falls.  They are quite ready to fight—­no boys in the school more so; but they are prepostors, and understand their office, and can’t uphold unrighteous causes.

“I haven’t been near his old barn this half,” cries East.  “Nor I,” “Nor I,” chime in Tom and Martin.