Away they went, and having got the poles were about to go home, when Demi unluckily said to Tommy, who was on Toby with a long rod in his hand,—
“You look like the picture of the man in the bull-fight, only you haven’t got a red cloth, or pretty clothes on.”
“I’d like to see one; wouldn’t you?” said Tommy, shaking his lance.
“Let’s have one; there’s old Buttercup in the big meadow, ride at her, Tom, and see her run,” proposed Dan, bent on mischief.
“No, you mustn’t,” began Demi, who was learning to distrust Dan’s propositions.
“Why not, little fuss-button?” demanded Dan.
“I don’t think Uncle Fritz would like it.”
“Did he ever say we must not have a bull-fight?”
“No, I don’t think he ever did,” admitted Demi.
“Then hold your tongue. Drive on, Tom, and here’s a red rag to flap at the old thing. I’ll help you to stir her up,” and over the wall went Dan, full of the new game, and the rest followed like a flock of sheep; even Demi, who sat upon the bars, and watched the fun with interest.