Loyally did Hubert fulfill his duty, though he literally hungered to see each passing pair of feet stray into forbidden paths. But none of the tired labourers who passed along the field showed any inclination to wander. Hubert had to let all go by with a heavy sigh and an increased longing for “really bad ones” to come soon.
At length, when it was growing very dusk, a short figure was seen to vault over the stile at the further end of the field, and without attempting to approach the foot-path, run boldly across the meadow.
Here, at last, was the longed-for malefactor.
Before even Hubert could whistle, Andrew, who was nearest to the stile, had darted out of his hiding-place and was attacking the foe.
But instead of meeting him face to face, as had been agreed should be done, according to the accepted canons of fair fighting, Andrew had allowed his victim to pass him, and had then followed him and struck him with his stick.
“I am just glad to be the very first of them all to be in the field,” he was saying to himself, but he didn’t say it twice.
In another second the figure, who was one of the odd men on his way to see to some yearling colts in the upper meadow, had rounded upon Andrew and seized him by the collar. Then he shook him so roughly that feeble cries for “he-elp” were nearly choked in his throat.
And if Phil and Jack had not come to the rescue and recognised Ned, with whom they had already chummed over the boat, that individual, so he solemnly assured them, would have well-nigh broken every bone in Andrew’s personal possession.
“And sarve him jolly well right, too, for hittin’ a chap over the head in the dark, and from behind, too,” Ned said.
“Well, you have gone and made a fool of yourself, and of us too,” cried his cousins, in deep disgust, as Ned departed. “Why on earth couldn’t you observe our laws and behave like a man? Now, at any rate, hold your tongue and don’t blab a word of what has happened. We wouldn’t let the girls know for anything.”