"Will ye fight the lot then, Jack?" chuckled old Piper.
"Ay, and wop em, too!" cried the little man, dodging, ducking. "Ave a slap at em first, and then go through—that's my idee."
"It's not mine, though!" roared the Parson, catching him a rousing kick.
"Get on with your undressing, d your eyes!"
He finished his note and folded it.
"And now for the sweet little cherub that sits up aloft."
III
He ran nimbly up the ladder, Kit at his heels.
The chorister had ceased his song.
Through the half-stuffed dormer, light streamed in on the white-washed wall, the cobwebs, rafters, and Polly in the corner, shining demure.
"Now where the dooce has that boy got?" muttered the Parson, looking round.