"I say, Shane, let's play roley-poley with you," said Brown major. Some one in the rear threw a hard pellet of brown paper, which struck Mr. Shane smartly on the head. He winced.
"Who threw that?" asked Griffin. "I say, Shane, why don't you whack him? If I were a man I wouldn't let little boys throw things at me; you are a man, aren't you, Shane?" He gave another jerk to the arm which he still held.
"You're not to pull my arm, Griffin; you hurt me. I wonder why you boys can't leave me alone."
"Go along! not really! We're only having a game, Shane; we're not in school, you know. What shall we do with him, you fellows? I vote we tie him in a chair, and stick needles and pins into him; he's sure to like that--he's such a jolly old fellow, Shane is."
"Why don't you let us go out?" asked Ellis.
"You know Mrs. Fletcher said you were not to go."
"Oh, bother Mrs. Fletcher! what's that got to do with it? We won't tell her if you let us go."
Mr. Shane sighed. Had it rested with him he would have been only too glad to let them go. Two or three hours of his own company would have been like a glimpse of paradise. But there was Mrs. Fletcher; she was a lady whose indignation was not to be lightly faced.
"If you won't let us go," said Ellis, "we'll make it hot for you. Do you think we're a lot of babies, to be melted by a drop of rain?"
"You know it's no use asking me. Mrs. Fletcher said you were not to go out if it rained, and it is raining."