To this our hero did not see fit to make any reply.  But he grasped his own whip a little tighter.  So brutal had been the tone assumed by the stranger, that he was not sure but he might proceed to carry out his threat, and lay the whip over his back.  He determined, in that case, to give him as good as he sent.  I will not express any opinion as to the propriety of this determination, but I am certain, from what I know of our hero’s fearless spirit, that he would not have hesitated to do it, be the consequences what they might.  But he did not have the opportunity.

“Once more,” demanded the stranger, furiously; “are you going to turn out?”

“No,” said the boy, decidedly.

“Then—­I’ll run you down.”

So saying, he brought the whip violently on the horse’s back.  The latter gave a convulsive spring forward.  But his driver had not taken into consideration that the farm-wagon was the stronger of the two vehicles, and that in any collision the buggy must come off second best.  So it happened that a wheel of the buggy was broken, and the driver, in the shock, thrown sprawling into a puddle on the other side of the road.  The wagon suffered no damage, but the old horse, terrified, set off at a rapid pace.  Herbert looked back to see if the stranger was injured, but seeing that he had already picked himself up unwounded, but decidedly dirty, he concluded to keep on his way to the mill.

The driver of the overturned vehicle was considerably more angry than hurt at this catastrophe.

It chafed his pride not a little to think that, after all his vaunts, the boy had maintained his ground, and got the better of him.  For a man of forty-five to be worsted by a boy of fourteen was, it must be confessed, a little mortifying.  It was something like a great ship of the line being compelled to surrender to a little monitor.

No one feels particularly dignified or good-natured when he is picking himself out of a mud puddle.  Our black-haired acquaintance proved no exception to this remark.  He shook his fist at the receding wagon and its occupant—­a demonstration of defiance which our hero did not witness, his back being now turned to his late opponent.

Mr. Abner Holden—­for this was the stranger’s name—­next turned his attention to the buggy, which had been damaged to some extent, and so was likely to involve him in expense.  This was another uncomfortable reflection.  Meanwhile, as it was no longer in a fit state for travel, he must contrive some way to have it carried back to the stable, and, unless he could procure another vehicle, perform the rest of the journey on foot.

Luckily, some men in a neighboring field had witnessed the collision, and, supposing their services might be required, were now present to lend their aid.

“Pretty bad accident,” remarked one of them.  “That ’ere wheel’ll need considerable tinkering afore it’s fit for use.  How came you to get it broke so, squire?”