I had felt this last time that Shock was very big and strong, hence it took me some moments to realise that the boy had crept out of the gooseberry bush and had shuffled away, while it was Ike whom I was belabouring and drumming with all my might.
“Well done, little one,” he cried. “There, cool down. Shock’s give in. You’ve whacked him. Here’s the ganger coming. Get on with your work.”
Shock ran by us with a rush, mounted his ladder, and I hurried up mine, to go on picking as well, while, panting and hot, smarting with blows and anger, I wondered what Old Brownsmith would say to me for what I had done.
He only went along the path, however, with his cats, as he saw that Ike was there, and the apple-picking went on till he was out of sight.
“Ah! you’re only a bit dirty,” said Ike to me rather less roughly than usual. “Come down and I’ll give you a brush.”
“There you are,” he said, after performing the task for me. “Was he up to his larks with you?”
“Yes,” I said; “he has been pelting me, and he pretended to fall; and when I went to help him he struck me, and I couldn’t stand that.”
“So you licked him well? That’s right, boy. He won’t do it again. If he does, give it him, and teach him better. I don’t like fighting till you’re obliged; but when you are obliged—hit hard’s my motter, and that’s what you’ve done by him.”
Of course I knew that that was what I had done by him, but I felt very sorry all the same, for I knew I had hurt Shock a good deal, and I had hurt myself; and somehow, as Ike went away chuckling and rubbing his big hands down his sides, it seemed very cruel of him to laugh.
Everything seemed to have gone so wrong, and I was in such trouble, that neither the sunshine nor the beauty of the apples gave me the least satisfaction.