The dominie lived outside the town, in a lonely little hamlet on the borders of the Spa.  At two of the clock every afternoon he would dive through School Street to the Coffee House, where the hostler would have his bony mare saddled and waiting.  Mr. Daaken by no chance ever entered the tavern.  I recall one bright day in April when I played truant and had the temerity to go afishing on Spa Creek with Will Fotheringay, the bass being plentiful there.  We had royal sport of it that morning, and two o’clock came and went with never a thought, you may be sure.  And presently I get a pull which bends my English rod near to double, and in my excitement plunge waist deep into the water, Will crying out directions from the shore, when suddenly the head of Mr. Daaken’s mare is thrust through the bushes, followed by Mr. Daaken himself.  Will stood stock still from fright, and I was for dropping my rod and cutting, when I was arrested by the dominie calling out: 

“Have a care, Master Carvel; have a care, sir.  You will lose him.  Play him, sir; let him run a bit.”

And down he leaps from his horse and into the water after me, and together we landed a three-pound bass, thereby drenching his snuff-coloured suit.  When the big fish lay shining in the basket, the dominie smiled grimly at William and me as we stood sheepishly by, and without a word he drew his clasp knife and cut a stout switch from the willow near, and then and there he gave us such a thrashing as we remembered for many a day after.  And we both had another when we reached home.

“Mr. Carvel,” said Mr. Dulany to my grandfather, “I would strongly counsel you to take Richard from that school.  Pernicious doctrines, sir, are in the air, and like diseases are early caught by the young.  ’Twas but yesterday I saw Richard at the head of a rabble of the sons of riff-raff, in Green Street, and their treatment of Mr. Fairbrother hath set the whole town by the ears.”

What Mr. Dulany had said was true.  The lads of Mr. Fairbrother’s school being mostly of the unpopular party, we of King William’s had organized our cohorts and led them on to a signal victory.  We fell upon the enemy even as they were emerging from their stronghold, the schoolhouse, and smote them hip and thigh, with the sheriff of Anne Arundel County a laughing spectator.  Some of the Tories (for such we were pleased to call them) took refuge behind Mr. Fairbrother’s skirts, who shook his cane angrily enough, but without avail.  Others of the Tory brood fought stoutly, calling out:  “God save the King!” and “Down with the traitors!” On our side Francie Willard fell, and Archie Dennison raised a lump on my head the size of a goose egg.  But we fairly beat them, and afterwards must needs attack the Tory dominie himself.  He cried out lustily to the sheriff and spectators, of whom there were many by this time, for help, but got little but laughter for his effort.  Young Lloyd and I, being large lads for our age, fairly pinioned the screeching master, who cried out that he was being murdered, and keeping his cane for a trophy, thrust him bodily into his house of learning, turned the great key upon him, and so left him.  He made his escape by a window and sought my grandfather in the Duke of Marlboro’ Street as fast as ever his indignant legs would carry him.