“Go that side, and do as I do,” whispered Vane; and they separated, and took opposite sides of the road, as the two gipsy lads stared hard at them, and as if to rouse their ire shouted at the wretched pony, and banged its ribs.
What followed was quickly done. Vane snatched at one stick and twisted it out of the lad’s hand nearest to him Macey followed suit, and the boys stared.
“It would serve you precious well right if I laid the stick about your shoulders,” cried Vane, breaking the ash sapling across his knee.
“Ditto, ditto,” cried Macey doing the same, and expecting an attack.
The lads looked astonished for the moment, but instead of resenting the act, trotted on after the pony, which had continued to advance; and, as soon as they were at a safe distance, one of them turned, put his hand to his mouth and shouted “yah!” while the other took out his knife and flourished it.
“Soon cut two more,” he cried.
“There!” said Macey, “deal of good you’ve done. The pony will only get it worse, and that’s another notch they’ve got against you.”
“Pish!” said Vane, contemptuously.
“Yes, it’s all very well to say pish; but suppose you come upon them some day when I’m not with you. Gipsies never forget, and you see if they don’t serve you out.”
Vane gave him a merry look, and Macey grinned.