“Now mind,” Jack had said at the beginning of the business; “we must not really let go of this precious specimen, for it would never do to let Miss Annie really get a wetting. We’ll only duck his head a couple of times under the water, to give him a bit of a fright.”
But when boys are bent on tormenting each other it is not always easy to stop short at the precise point at which they had intended to limit their operations, and so, thanks to Andrew’s struggles partly, and partly to the temptation that the other boys felt to keep up the idea that their luckless victim was in real bodily danger, the exploit ended in the whole party rolling into the river together. The water was so shallow, and their plight was so ludicrous, and apparently so little harm was done to anyone, that even the little boys laughed heartily.
“We’ve got a bit of a ducking,” said Jack, whose first thought had been for Hubert and Gaston, “but we’ll soon dry in this broiling sun.”
“On the whole, it has been quite refreshing,” laughed Phil.
“Werry much so,” chimed in the little boys. But Gaston’s teeth were chattering from the shock of his sudden immersion into the Gay.
Andrew, standing dripping from head to foot, said nothing.
“And will he go back to his kind sister Faith, and show her his little wet jacket?” jeered Phil, as Andrew presently moved off.
“Look here, old chap,” cried Jack, good-naturedly, “do like us. Put your jacket here to dry in the sun. This bit of grass is as good as a hot plate any day,” and he pointed to a sun-baked patch where the younger boys’ garments were already spread out, “and we none of us got wet to the skin.”
“Yes, give us your jacket,” said Phil.
But Andrew, turning a deaf ear, marched off across the fields, but not to the farm.