"Didn't you get a lickin'?" demanded a voice from the rear of the sleigh.
The bright face suddenly fell, one could never aspire to be a hero until one had braved the master's tawse.
"No," was the reluctant admission. "The master would be jist fearsome to the big lads, but he would not be saying anything to me. But," he added, brightening, "I would be having a fight!"
"Horo!" the three young men laughed delightedly. "That will be a fine start, jist keep it up!" cried the youth on the front seat.
"Hoots, whist ye, Callum!" cried the elder man, reprovingly, while his dancing eyes contradicted his tongue. "What will his Granny be sayin' to such goin's on, an' the first day at school, too!"
"And who would you be fightin', Scotty?" asked Uncle Rory, leaning eagerly forward.
"Danny Murphy!" he announced truculently, "an' I would be lickin' him good, too!"
There was a chorus of joyous approval.
"Good for you!" shouted Callum; "jist you pitch into any o' yon Irish crew every time you get a chance!"
"Be quate, will ye, Callum!" cried his father more sternly. "The lad will be jist like yerself, too ready with his fists, whatever. A brave man will never be a boaster, Scotty, man."