Martin paused. He disliked to pose as a vainglorious pugilist, but there was no help for it.
“I got the better of him,” he said quietly. “One, at least, of his eyes were closed, and I had just given him an uppercut on the nose.”
“But his brother was there, too?”
“Master Ernest was looking after him.”
“How about the other children?”
“They ran away.”
“All of them?”
“Well, nearly all. I can only speak for myself, sir. No doubt the others will tell you what they saw.”
Obviously, Mr. Dane was unprepared for the cool self-possession displayed by this farmer’s son. He nodded acquiescence with Martin’s views and sat down.
Mr. Stockwell, watching the boy narrowly, had caught the momentary gleam of surprise when his look encountered that of the pretty dark-eyed child whose fashionable attire distinguished her from the village urchins among whom she was sitting.