Nat Barclay complied with his request, and Bernard taking the cord which Septimus had used on Frank, quickly and securely tied the hands of the young tyrant.
Septimus struggled and threatened, but without effect. In less than a minute he was securely bound.
“There,” said Bernard, “you are safe for a short time.”
“Untie my hands, or I’ll get my father to flog you!” screamed Septimus.
“Perhaps you’d better,” said Nat Barclay in a low voice. He was afraid his friend would get into trouble.
“No, I won’t. Septimus needs the lesson. You needn’t worry about me. Now we’ll go to the post-office.”
The two boys kept on their way, and Septimus, his hands tied, with wrath in his heart, started for home.
Mr. Snowdon was just coming out of the front door, when to his astonished gaze was revealed his son and heir walking towards the house, with his hands close together, like a prisoner in handcuffs.
“What does all this mean?” he asked in surprise. “What have you been tying your hands for?”
“I didn’t tie my hands,” said Septimus sullenly. “Do you think I am a fool?”