“I should think it might. It was about as hard as a cannon-ball,” returned Phil grimly. “Is that all you've got to say about it?”
“I did it in fun,” said Jonas, beginning to see that he had need to be prudent.
“Very well! I don't like your idea of fun. Perhaps you won't like mine,” said Phil, as he forcibly drew Jonas back till he lay upon the snow, and then kneeling by his side, rubbed his face briskly with snow.
“What are you doin'? Goin' to murder me?” shrieked Jonas, in anger and dismay.
“I am going to wash your face,” said Phil, continuing the operation vigorously.
“I say, you quit that! I'll tell my mother,” ejaculated Jonas, struggling furiously.
“If you do, tell her why I did it,” said Phil.
Jonas shrieked and struggled, but in vain. Phil gave his face an effectual scrubbing, and did not desist until he thought he had avenged the bad treatment he had suffered.
“There, get up!” said he at length.
Jonas scrambled to his feet, his mean features working convulsively with anger.