If he had had a grain of sense he would have scored off his tormentors by joining lustily in the song against himself, but instead of that, he swelled with silent rage, whilst he reflected on the best way of avenging this insult.
His first step in that direction was to round on Hubert, and fling him head foremost into a thicket of brambles. Hubert’s hearty “Let him be caught,” etc., turned abruptly into a dolorous howl, which served as the signal for opening hostilities.
Down from his branch clambered Phil, and by the time Faith had rescued battered Hubert from his thorny surroundings, Andrew was struggling in the strong clutches of his cousins.
“Leave Andrew alone, do boys,” besought Fay and Phoena in one breath. By this time, the offender was stretched full length on the ground, but Di, whose sense of justice was always greater than that of mercy, declared that Andrew ought not to be let off.
Even little Marygold, strong in her unfailing loyalty to Hubert, piped out shrilly that “he ought to be made to say that he was dreffully sorry, before he was released.”
“Of course, he must offer a humble apology,” said Phil, digging each of his knees into Andrew’s sides, and shaking his arms violently to and fro above his prostrate head, whilst Jack was adjusting what he called “hobbles” upon his victim’s feet. “It was beastly mean of you,” went on Phil, “to attack one of the infants, and if you won’t apologise as you should, we’ll help you to.”
“Yes,” chimed in Jack, “you can take your choice entirely. You can either stay where you are, and you must be jolly comfortable, I am sure,”—here Jack seated himself on Andrew’s fettered feet,—“till we are all tired of sitting on you, by turns, or you may now and at once accept our terms and regain your liberty. Make your choice.”
“He must have the terms read over to him,” said Di. “Phil, dictate them!”
“Don’t please hurt him really,” put in the forgiving Hubert, “because the scratches have done hurting now.”
“Recommendations to mercy are not in order now,” ruled Jack, with a gesture of command. “Shut up, will you!”—this to Andrew, who was wriggling with all his might beneath the weight of his captors, “Di, come here!”