For a space she laid down her story, which began, "Once upon a time," and asked herself what there was that she could make a poem of for Cyril.
"It must be something brave," she said. "A horse, a dog, a fire, a man—a St. Bernard dog saving a boy—a soldier—I think a soldier would suit Cyril!"
She stared through the bush to the red road consideringly, holding her pencil ready to write. As she looked she became aware of a small figure running along the road, and entering the bush track. It was Cyril, and Cyril in woe. She could see that at a glance, and of course the first thing she did was to throw down her paper and pencil and run to meet him.
As she got nearer to him she saw tears were running down his face and she heard, ever and anon as he ran, a great sob, half of anger and half of fear, come bursting from his lips.
"Oh, my poor boy, whatever is the matter?" she cried in her most motherly way.
"The g-g-great big bully!" sobbed Cyril.
"Oh dear!" exclaimed Betty in distress.
"Oh the b-b-big bully. Let's get home."
"Big John Brown?" asked Betty, for only yesterday this same John Brown had sent her small brother home weeping over a sore head.
"Yes, of course. He—he said he'd knock me into next year. Come on, can't you?"