“A fight, boys!” yelled the others.  “Here’s a fight!” and a crowd rapidly gathered to watch operations, while little Mysie, who had been the cause of it all, shrank back into a quiet corner, the tears running from her eyes and a sore pain at her heart.

“Go on, Bob!  Gi’e him a jelly yin,” cried Bob’s supporters.

“Watch for his nose, Peter,” cried those who pinned their faith to the coal-owner’s son.  Amid a chorus of such encouragement, both boys belabored each other and fought like barbarians.

“Let up, Peter,” cried Bob’s admirers, “an’ gi’e him fair doo,” as the two rolled upon the ground, with Peter, who was much the bigger boy, on top.  “Come on now, he let you up when you was doon,” and so they kept the balance of fair play.  But the fight raged on in a terrible fury of battle, sometimes one boy on top, sometimes the other.  Bob was the more active of the two, and hardier, and what he lacked in weight he made up in speed.  One of Peter’s eyes was bruised, while Robert’s lip was swelling, and each strained to plant the decisive blow that would end the fight.

“Nae kickin’, Peter!  Ye’re bate,” yelled one watchful supporter of Bob, as he noticed the former’s booted foot come into violent contact with Bobbie’s bare leg.

“Big cowardie!” cried another, as Peter, crying now with rage and vexation, hit out with his foot.  “Fight fair an’ nae kickin’!”

Bob managed to dodge the kick, and flinging himself in before Peter recovered his balance, planted a heavy blow upon his opponent’s nose.

“Ho! a jelly yin! a jelly yin!” roared the crowd in admiration.  “Gi’e him anither yin,” and even Peter’s supporters began to desert him.  Bob, thus encouraged, laid about him with all the strengthened “morale” of a conscious victor, finding it comparatively easy now to hit hard—­and often.  Peter, blinded by tears and choking with passion, could not see, but struck aimlessly, till one resounding smack upon his already injured nose brought the eagerly looked for crimson blood from it, and that of course, in schoolboy etiquette, meant the end of the fight.  Peter was now lying upon the ground, his handkerchief at his nose, and roaring like a bull, not so much because of his injured nose, as because of the hurt to his pride and vanity.

“Haud back yer held,” advised one boy, “an’ put something cauld doon yer back.”

Suddenly there was silence, and everyone looked awed and shamefaced as Mr. Clapper, the headmaster, strode into the midst of them.  He had heard the noise of the fight, and had stolen up unobserved just in time to see Peter get the knockout blow.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded sternly, his eyes traveling all over the children, till they rested finally on Robert.  No one answered, and so he proceeded to question Peter, who had struggled to his feet.  Peter, like many other boys in similar circumstances, poured forth a great indictment of his adversary, and Mr. Clapper then turned to Robert.