Grain wriggled again in the hands of his captors, colouring with surprise, and frowning with annoyance. Never could a face have betrayed guilty knowledge more clearly than his did at that moment.
"More play-acting," he managed to sneer. "What has all this rot to do with me?"
"More than thou wottest of. I tell thee to thy face that thou didst hurl this very apple at the stage, smashing a lamp and setting the scenery afire. Didst then come to help to put out the flames thou hadst caused? No, like the cowardly Squirm thou art, thou tookest to thy heels, and left us to battle with the fire as best we could."
"Cut it short," growled Grain.
"I will," said Robin, promptly. "Boys, tie his hands firmly behind his back. Little John, bring forth the bucket of ice-cold water."
The bucket was produced and Robin dropped the apple into it.
"Now, caitiff, kneel," he commanded, "and with thy mouth pick thy precious russet from the water. Quick, or thou wilt rue it!"
"I knew you'd be up to some dirty trick or other," Grain growled. "I won't play bob-apple to please you or anybody, that's flat."
"Then put his face in, my Merry Men," said Robin. "'Twill take no harm from an extra wash, I'll warrant ye."
Ready hands thrust Grain to his knees and immersed his face in the bucket. The water was freezing cold, and one dose was quite enough. Swallowing his pride, he began frantically trying to snatch out the apple with his mouth. Each time it bobbed serenely away from him, to the vast amusement of the spectators, who felt no pity for this helpless Squirm, himself a far greater tormentor of younger boys than they now were of him. It was a very small price he was paying for the cruel "fun" he had given himself for so long a time.