“Why, he’s big enough to eat ’ee,” observed one of the men, “and ought to be ashamed on himself.”
“Go on,” exclaimed Giles, “hit a man when he be down, it’s the way wi’ ’ee all.”
“You’re simply a blundering fool, and ought to have a month or two on the mill to tame ye,” cried Peace. “I’m not at all certain that you didn’t intend to rob me.”
“Ah, no, he aint one of that sort. Don’t ’ee think that, sir,” returned the other rustic.
“Well, I hope I’m mistaken. Let it pass. I am mistaken, put it in that way, and so good night.”
With these last words, Peace proceeded on his way, and in a few minutes afterwards was safely ensconced in the snug parlour of Bricket’s hostelry.
When the time came for the regular frequenters of the establishment to arrive, the topic of conversation was the encounter we have briefly described.
The man Giles was an ill-tempered, overbearing fellow, who was not liked by the village folk, and his discomfiture at the hands of Peace was deemed a good joke by most of them.
The only wonder was with them all, that such a slight-built little fellow could have secured so easy a conquest, and, as a natural consequence, Peace was the hero of the hour.
It was not the first time he had made use of his head as a weapon of defence.