Carver’s field was a tract, several acres in extent, of pasture land, sloping down to one corner, where a brook trickled along quietly. Here three large trees were located, under whose spreading branches the boys, in the intervals of study, used often to stretch themselves for a chat or engage in some schoolboy games, such as nimble peg or quoits. The owner of the field was an easy-going man, who did not appear to be troubled by the visits of the boys, as long as they did not maltreat the peaceful cows who gathered their subsistence from the scanty grass that grew there.
“He wants to keep out of your way, I guess,” volunteered Bates.
As this suggestion was flattering to the pride of the “boss,” it was graciously received.
“Very likely,” he said; “but he’ll find that isn’t so easy. Boys, follow me, if you want to see some fun.”
Jim started with his loose stride for the field, where he expected to meet his adversary, or, rather, victim, for so he considered him, and the smaller boys followed him with alacrity. There was going to be a scrimmage, and they all wanted to see it.
Jim and his followers issued from the gate, and, crossing the street, scaled the bars that separated Carver’s field from the highway. Already they could see the two boys—Roscoe and Wilkins-slowly walking, and nearly arrived at the brook in the lower part of the field.
“He doesn’t seem much afraid,” remarked Talbot, one of the recent comers, incautiously.
Upon him immediately Jim frowned ominously.
“So you are taking sides with him, Talbot, are you?” he said, imperiously.
“No, Jim,” answered Talbot, hurriedly, for he now saw that he had been guilty of an imprudence.