“Mother will not like it because you have been fighting,” went on the girl gravely.
“We didn’t mean to, Jeanne,” broke in Jean quickly. “We came to the river to fish, but some of the Burgundian boys came to the other side, and began to call us names, saying that we didn’t dare to come over and fight. We ran back to the village, and told the other boys who came back with us to show the Maxeys that we did dare, but not one of them was to be seen. So we crossed the bridge to the Lorraine side anyway, and––”
“They set upon us,” interrupted Pierre excitedly. “They had hidden in the bushes and behind trees, and as soon as we were fairly among them they threw themselves upon us. ’Twas an ambuscade just like when Roland was set upon at Roncesvalles.”
“And did the Domremy boys give a good account of themselves?” 68 queried Jeanne anxiously. “And how did you get the gash?”
Jean looked embarrassed.
“I did it,” he said at length. “It was like Olivier did to Roland. You see we were all so mixed up when the Maxey boys fell upon us that we couldn’t tell which were our boys, and which were not. So, in striking out with a stick that I carried, I thwacked Pierrelot on the head instead of one of them as I intended. But I made up for it afterward; didn’t I, Pierre?”
Pierre laughed as he nodded affirmation.
“So did I,” he said. “I knew that Jean would feel bad about hitting me, so we both made the Burgundians pay for it. Do we have to carry the tables and the paddles home, Jeanne? Or aren’t you through washing yet?”
“Yes; we have finished, Pierre. Mother said for you boys to carry the tables home, but since you are hurt I will help Jean with them.”
“Pouf! why, ’tis nothing but a scratch,” cried Pierrelot. “And you have been washing, too. I’ll carry my share, Jeanne. Now let’s be getting home. I’m hungry as a wolf.”