III
He plunged down the bank.
As he reached the greensward a warning shout from the cottage reached him.
"Ha! what's this?" joggled the Parson sharply. "Flank attack! who the pest? Oh, Gap Gang—I forgot."
A stream of fierce dark figures with running legs poured down the Wish and across the greensward at him.
"Hold tight round my neck, Kit!" he panted, taut to meet the new attack. "I want my sword-arm free. What! the boy's fainted!" He gave the limp body a hoist on his shoulder. "Now, Knapp! Let's see these guts o yours!"
Knapp shot by him, his arms working like piston-rods.
"Come on, Blob, me boy. Slaughder for somebody!" He pranced into action, throwing his legs like a hackney trotter. "Pray, duckie darlins, pray!" he called. "I'm a-comin! I'm a-comin! I'm a-comin!"
The life was bursting out of him. It made him laughing-mad. He was lusty as a young lion.
"Here they come!" muttered the Parson, labouring behind.