The “principle,” indeed, was well illustrated; but Master Hempstead had still to deal, hand to hand, with his youthful rebels.
Lewis, Moses and the others were athletic youngsters, and the master, owing perhaps to his many “vacations” at Marietta, was at best somewhat tottery.
The battle went sorely against him. With shouts of triumph they dragged him forth into the yard, and holding him down in the snow, clamored loud for his signature. Still, with reproaches, he refused it, calling down upon them the vengeance of all known powers of good and evil.
But now an interruption occurred. Milly Ayer, who had thus far sat quietly in the back row, now donned her hood in haste, and slipping forth in the midst of the mêlée, ran down to the creek bank, where the ark was being built, to summon aid.
“Help! help!” she cried, then waved her red hood to attract attention, for her cries were drowned in the din of hammers below.
Young Captain Royce was the first to see and hear. Between Milly and himself there had long existed a warm friendship.
“What is it, Milly? What’s happened?” he shouted, and all the hammers stopped short.
“O Marion, come quick!” cried Milly. “They are fighting at the schoolhouse!”
The young captain was half-way up the bluff before these words were all spoken. The others followed him; even old Jonas Sparks, Gaffir Hoyt and Uncle Amasa Claiborne hurried stiffly to the schoolhouse in the wake of Marion Royce and Milly.
But the most sedate of them could but smile at the spectacle which was there presented. Moses Ayer and Lewis Hoyt were holding Master Hempstead fast with his back to a tree trunk, while Louis Gist was trying to bind him to it with green hazel withes. The smaller boys, equally excited, were endeavoring to bear a hand, and yelled like young redskins; while Molly Royce and the other girls looked on with something akin to enthusiasm.