'No, no, of the little brute of a missionary chap, and we made up our minds to tar and feather him before he converted us; but long before we had found out which of the new trebles was the model Christian, old Shapcote had caught us two pitching into one another, because I said Bexley was a snobbish place full of pots and pans.'
'And that founded your friendship?'
'No, not quite, for we had a worse fight because I shut his Bible up in his face when he tried to look over the Lessons in the Cathedral.'
'Why, you all do,' said Robina.
'Yes, now; but before Nixon came we were a horrid set of little ruffians. Do you remember, Lance, how Roper offered you a bull's-eye in the Cathedral, and thrashed you afterwards because you wouldn't have it?'
'O Lance! but that was persecution!' cried Robina. 'Who would have thought you went through things like that?'
'Ay,' said Bill, 'you believed in the little cherub chorister boys, that sing and look out of their great violet eyes, till they die of declines.'
'Ah!' said Lance, who was leaning on his arm rather wearily, 'Jack will do for himself if he tells Wilmet her eyes are violet; it is like a red rag to a bull.'
'Yes,' said Robina, 'she says nobody ever had eyes the colour of violets, and they would be hideous if they were.'
'I have seen them,' said Willie, gravely.