The one as silently as the other; till the bay was left behind and they came to the point where the road began to go up to the tableland.  Just under the hill here was a spring of delicious water, always flowing; and filling a little walled-up basin.

Will, or Will Rufus, as his father had long ago called him, had passed on and begun to mount the hill.  Winthrop stopped his oxen till he should fill a large stone jug for the day.  The jug had a narrow neck, and he was stooping at the edge of the basin, waiting for the water to flow in, when his head and shoulders made a sudden plunge and the jug and he soused in together.  Not for any want of steadiness in either of them; the cause of the plunge was a worthless fellow who was coming by at the moment.  He had a house a little way off on the bay.  He lived by fishing and farming alternately; and was often, and was then, employed by Mr. Landholm as an assistant in his work.  He was on his way to the bend meadow, and passing close by Winthrop at the spring, the opportunity was too good to be resisted; he tipped him over into the water.

The boy soon scrambled out, and shaking himself like a great water-dog, and with about as much seeming concern, fixed a calm eye on his delighted enemy.

“Well, Sam Doolittle, —­ what good has that done anybody?”

“Ha’n’t it done you none, Governor?”

“What do you think?”

“Well!  I think you be a cool one —­ and the easiest customer ever I see.”

“I’ve a mind it shall do somebody good; so see you don’t give my father any occasion to be out with you; for if you do, I’ll give him more.”

“Ay, ay,” said the man comfortably, “you won’t tell on me.  Hi! here’s somebody!”

It was Rufus who suddenly joined the group, whip in hand, and looking like a young Achilles in ploughman’s coat and trousers.  Not Achilles’ port could be more lordly; the very fine bright hazel eye was on fire; the nostril spoke, and the lip quivered; though he looked only at his brother.

“What’s the matter, Winthrop?”

“I’ve been in the water, as you see,” said his brother composedly.  “I want a change of clothes, rather.”

“How did you get into the water?”

“Why, head foremost —­ which wasn’t what I meant to do.”

“Sam, you put him in!”

“He, he! —­ well, Mr. Rufus, maybe I helped him a leetle.”

“You scoundrel!” said Rufus, drawing the whip through his fingers; “what did you do it for?”

“He, he! —­ I didn’t know but what it was you, Will.”

For all answer, the ox-whip was laid about Sam’s legs, with the zest of furious indignation; a fury there was no standing against.  It is true, Rufus’s frame was no match for the hardened one of Mr. Doolittle, though he might be four or five years the elder of the two boys; but the spirit that was in him cowed Sam, in part, and in part amused him.  He made no offer to return the blows; he stood, or rather jumped, as the whip slung itself round his legs, crying out,