The summer house, which was a poor imitation of an Indian pagoda, mounted on piles, had a door, with a window in each of its octagonal faces. On the other side of the brook was a large tree, whose branches partially shaded the building. During my study of the situation, I had arranged a plan by which my escape could be effected at a favorable moment. I could pass out at one of the windows, and climb to the roof of the pagoda, from which the overhanging branches of the trees would afford me the means of reaching the ground. The only difficulty in my way was, that my besiegers would be able to reach the foot of the tree before I could, and thus cut off my retreat. But the summer house was located near the lake, and the brook at this point was wide and deep, so that it could not be crossed except on the bridge, which was several rods distant. My line of retreat would be available only when the besiegers were off their guard, or were not in a situation to pursue instantly.
When Colonel Wimpleton appeared, Waddie’s six brave companions retired from the ground, fearful, perhaps, of getting into a scrape. I saw them move off a short distance, and halt to observe the proceedings. The great man and his associates devoted their whole attention to me, and did not heed the students. They came directly to the foot of the stairs, while I sat at the head of them. I had made a movement to retire when the valiant six retreated; but I saw that the attempt would only throw me into the hands of the reënforcements.
“Come down, you villain!” called Colonel Wimpleton, as he halted at the foot of the stairs.
To this summons to surrender I made no reply.
“What do you mean by knocking my son over into the mud?” he added, angrily.
“He began it upon me, sir,” I replied. “He brought up half a dozen fellows to lick me, and struck me with a club.”
“He served you right. I told you to come down.”
“I know you did, sir.”
“Are you coming down?”
“Not just yet.”