At the hill all now was gaiety and glee. The only thing to mar, ever so slightly, the sport, was the presence of a party from South Beaufort. Eight strong they had arrived, with their bob; and discoloring the snow with tobacco, and swearing freely, they had proceeded to impress the others with their importance.
However, beyond elbowing their way about freely, and profaning snow and air, and acting just as they pleased, they had made no especial trouble, and Ned and the other boys tried to pay no attention to them.
By this time two grooves had been worn in the track, and along them rushed, with no steering needed, the sleds great and small. The street crossings were hair-raising bumps, which caused each sled to leap like a frightened colt. Highest of all bounced Ned on his light clipper, and farthest of all he went, setting a mark which none could touch. Still firm in his faith that some time he would catch him was Bob, racing madly down, and panting sedately up.
At last merely sliding down hill ceased to prove of much interest to the South Beauforters. Trouble was what they wanted; trouble they would have; and the meaner the brand the better it would suit them.
They began to bully the smaller boys, and to blockade, as though by accident, but really with sly malice, the steps of the larger. They sent girls’ sleds careening down the slope, and in a hundred ways made themselves a dread and an annoyance.
“Come on, Ned, let’s go home,” pleaded little Tennie Loders, who lived near Ned, plucking him by the sleeve. “I’m cold.”
“He’s afraid,” scoffed Sam Higgs. “That’s what’s the matter with him.”
“You run along, Tennie,” said Ned. “But I’m not going to leave till I get good and ready. Nobody’s going to drive me off, you bet.”
“Who’s tryin’ to drive you off? Say, kid, who’s tryin’ to drive you off?” sneered Big Mike Farr, who overheard.