The lad came slowly toward him, but apparently with great unwillingness.
“Come on,” cried Vane, “and I’ll give you a penny. Hallo! Here’s the other one!”
For the second lad came slouching along beneath the trees.
“Here, you two,” cried Vane, waving his trowel; “come along and dig up some of these. That’s right. You’ve got sticks. You can do it with the points.”
The second boy had come into sight from among the trees to Vane’s left, and advanced cautiously now, as if doubtful of the honesty of his intentions.
“That’s right,” cried Vane. “Come along, both of you, and I’ll give you twopence a piece. Do you hear? I shan’t hurt you.”
But they did not hasten their paces, advancing very cautiously, stick in hand, first one and then the other, glancing round as if for a way of escape, as it seemed.
“Why, they’re as shy as rabbits,” thought Vane, laughing to himself. “It’s leading such a wild life, I suppose. Here,” he cried to the first lad, who was now within a yard of him, while the other was close behind; “see these? I want some of them. Come on, and I’ll show you how to find them. Why, what did you do that for?”
Vane gave a bound forward, wincing with pain, for he had suddenly received a heavy blow on the back from the short cudgel the boy behind him bore, and as he turned fiercely upon him, thrusting the trowel into his basket and doubling his fist to return the blow, the first boy struck him heavily across the shoulder with his stick.
If the gipsy lads imagined that the blows would cow Vane, and make him an easy victim for the thrashing they had evidently set themselves to administer, they were sadly mistaken. For uttering a cry of rage as the second blow sent a pang through him, Vane dashed down his basket and trowel, spun round and rushed at his second assailant, but only to receive a severe blow across one wrist while another came again from behind.