“He’d better,” said his judges, “now young uns, remember your duty.”
“Yes,” said those “young uns,” cheerfully. But in truth, Hubert was secretly quaking with fear; whilst as to Gaston, nothing but the terror of being jeered at as a “French froggy” kept him from running away.
Accustomed to the intense stillness of his grandmother’s house, these continual fights and rumours of fights not only bewildered him, they were utterly distasteful to him. But, now he felt that his honour as a Frenchman was at stake, and stay he must.
“Behold the recreant knight,” cried Jack, as Andrew approached.
“What a pity,” said Phil, “that we couldn’t kodak the scene, it’s bound to be thrilling.”
The spot selected for this rather original court of justice was certainly a very pretty one. Jack, the president, had taken up his position against the trunk of a huge willow tree, whose silver-coated branches swept the surface of the river, which gave its name to the low-lying meadows. An old meal tub, reversed, supplied Jack’s seat, whilst a conveniently forked branch on either side of him furnished admirable perches for his two aides-de-camp, Hubert and Gaston. Gaston had selected the safest branch, whilst Hubert, with great glee, had clambered into the fork of the bough which hung so immediately over the water, that his dangling toes just swept the rippling wavelets. Phil apparently combined the offices of prosecutor, witness, and jury in the oncoming trial.
Feeling secretly much alarmed, Andrew presented himself before the court.
“Look sharp and say what you want,” he said, “I’m going after butterflies.”
“We must ask the butterflies to excuse your attendance to-day,” said Jack.
“And I shall want you, Hubert, to carry my net,” went on Andrew, ignoring Jack’s last speech.