Robin took me by the hand, and gazed at me disdainfully, and then smote me painfully in the face, ere I could get my fence up.

“Whutt be ’bout, lad?” cried John Fry; “hutt un again, Jan, wull ’e?  Well done then, our Jan boy.”

For I had replied to Robin now, with all the weight and cadence of penthemimeral caesura (a thing, the name of which I know, but could never make head nor tail of it), and the strife began in a serious style, and the boys looking on were not cheated.  Although I could not collect their shouts when the blows were ringing upon me, it was no great loss; for John Fry told me afterwards that their oaths went up like a furnace fire.  But to these we paid no heed or hap, being in the thick of swinging, and devoid of judgment.  All I know is, I came to my corner, when the round was over, with very hard pumps in my chest, and a great desire to fall away.

“Time is up,” cried head-monitor, ere ever I got my breath again; and when I fain would have lingered awhile on the knee of the boy that held me.  John Fry had come up, and the boys were laughing because he wanted a stable lanthorn, and threatened to tell my mother.

“Time is up,” cried another boy, more headlong than head-monitor.  “If we count three before the come of thee, thwacked thou art, and must go to the women.”  I felt it hard upon me.  He began to count, one, too, three—­but before the “three” was out of his mouth, I was facing my foe, with both hands up, and my breath going rough and hot, and resolved to wait the turn of it.  For I had found seat on the knee of a boy sage and skilled to tutor me, who knew how much the end very often differs from the beginning.  A rare ripe scholar he was; and now he hath routed up the Germans in the matter of criticism.  Sure the clever boys and men have most love towards the stupid ones.

“Finish him off, Bob,” cried a big boy, and that I noticed especially, because I thought it unkind of him, after eating of my toffee as he had that afternoon; “finish him off, neck and crop; he deserves it for sticking up to a man like you.”

But I was not so to be finished off, though feeling in my knuckles now as if it were a blueness and a sense of chilblain.  Nothing held except my legs, and they were good to help me.  So this bout, or round, if you please, was foughten warily by me, with gentle recollection of what my tutor, the clever boy, had told me, and some resolve to earn his praise before I came back to his knee again.  And never, I think, in all my life, sounded sweeter words in my ears (except when my love loved me) than when my second and backer, who had made himself part of my doings now, and would have wept to see me beaten, said,—­

“Famously done, Jack, famously!  Only keep your wind up, Jack, and you’ll go right through him!”

Meanwhile John Fry was prowling about, asking the boys what they thought of it, and whether I was like to be killed, because of my mother’s trouble.  But finding now that I had foughten three-score fights already, he came up to me woefully, in the quickness of my breathing, while I sat on the knee of my second, with a piece of spongious coralline to ease me of my bloodshed, and he says in my ears, as if he was clapping spurs into a horse,—­