He threw himself upon the ruffian, kicking and punching. The man let her go and turned upon the boy.
“Yer’ve brought this on yerself, my son, and now yer go in’ ter ’ave it.”
He stepped up furiously, his hand stretched out to seize him by the throat. The fingers were on the point of touching; there was a thud. The thick arm hesitated and fell limply. On the man’s forehead a red wound spread.
“My-Gawd!”
His body crumpled. It sank into the grass and lay without a motion. “Is he dead?” Desire whispered.
“No fear. It ’ud take more than a stone to kill him. Come on, you kids, let’s run for it.”
They turned. Standing behind them in the evening quiet was a Puck-like figure. He was broad, and short, and grinning, and cocky. He wore a midshipman’s suit with brass buttons, which looked dusty and spotty. He had red hair, and was a miniature edition of Mrs. Sheerug.
“Why, Ruddy,” gasped Teddy, “where did you spring from?”
“Where didn’t I spring from? Ha! Get away from him and I’ll tell you. He’s stirring.”
The bird-catcher was struggling into a sitting position. He glared evilly at the children. “You just wait till I get yer,” he muttered. “Skin yer, that’s wot I’ll do. Boil yer. Tear every——”