“Hallo, what’s here?” he cried; “what little kid are you?” seizing the child by the shoulders. He did not mean any harm, but grasped the little boy’s shoulder with the grip of a playful ploughman. Then there was a rush of the whole band to see what it was. The new boy! but such a boy—a baby—a gentleman baby—a creature of a different order.
“Let’s see him,” they cried, tumbling over each other, while Nello, dragged to his feet, stood shrinking, confronting them, making trial of all the manhood he possessed. He would not cry; he drew back against his bed, and doubled his little fist, his heart heaving, his lip quivering.
“I have done no harm,” said Nello, with a sob in his voice; and the head boy called out, good-humouredly enough, though the thunder of his boyish bass sounded to Nello like the voice of doom, to “let him be.”
“What’s he got there?” he asked.
The basket was snatched from the child’s hand, notwithstanding his resistance. Nello gave a great cry when it was taken from him.
“Oh, my bird, my pigeon, my bird!—you are not to hurt my bird.”
“Give it here,” said the head boy.
But the first who had seized the treasure held it fast.
“I’ve got it, and I’ll keep it,” he cried.
“Give it here!” shouted the other.