"In future I shall prefer to picnic where there are spiders, instead of where mad bulls are about. In fact, I shall rather like spiders after this: they're so gentle and don't bellow at all."
The boys were still watching the havoc which the bull was creating, when they noticed a man walking towards us beside the fence.
He was a big, burly farmer and looked very angry.
"Now then," he cried, in a surly voice, "what do you mean by all this?"
"I don't understand you," I answered.
"I speak plain English, don't I?" he said. "Wasn't it you that's been trampling in my long grass, and building tents and what not on private property? I'll learn you that I won't have no strangers in my meadows, I can tell ye."
"I'm very sorry if I've done any harm," said I, "and I'm sure if—"
"If you've done any harm!" shouted the farmer. "Look at all that long grass trampled down all over the meadow."
"Yes," I interrupted, "but it was your bull which did that."
"He wouldn't have done it if you hadn't teased him," said the farmer obstinately. "I saw one of you myself teasing him with a red rag and making him furious. I'm not going to have any of it. Off you come with me to the police station."