There was another pause.
“I say!”
Pete held his head still, but did not turn round, keeping his face within a few inches of the water.
“It was all your fault: I didn’t want to fight.”
Pete began splashing again.
“I’m going home now; I shall come and see how the dog is to-morrow.”
The only sign made by Pete was to take his left hand from his pocket, and hold it as far behind him as he could reach, with something held between his finger and thumb.
Tom stared, for it was the sixpence he had given him before the fight.
“I don’t want it,” said Tom; and he turned away, plunged in among the fir-trees, and as soon as he was in shelter looked back, to see that Pete was still bending over the water and holding the coin out behind him.
“Oh, I do wish it was dark,” thought Tom, “so that I could get in without being seen. It’ll be weeks before my face is quite well again. And I wanted to be friendly too. All my blackberries and mushrooms gone. Oh, how my head aches; just as if I’d been knocking it against a wall.”