The native Indian at the maternal scream had taken to its heels, flying swiftly round the field by the hedge, closely pursued by the irate maternal person. Farmer Jenks, seeing the other victims had escaped, turned to the pursuit of Mrs. Bott with a roar of fury. In a few minutes the native Indian had found another hole in the hedge and was well on its way to its home—a little flying black and white streaked figure.
Mrs. Bott, discovering suddenly that she was being pursued by a ferocious man, sat down in the middle of the field and began to have hysterics....
V
The Outlaws reassembled in the lane. They had changed into their normal clothes and (partially) removed the blacking. Washing it, as Ginger remarked, only seemed to spread it. It retreated from the centres of their faces to their hair and necks. They were extremely weary and extremely hot.
The sun still beat down upon the world unmercifully.
They surveyed sadly the gains of the afternoon—one sixpence and two pennies. They had lost the other penny and the halfpenny on their flight from the field.
“Eightpence,” said Ginger bitterly, “sim’ly wore ourselves out over it an’ it’s only made eightpence. What can we do with eightpence? Kin’ly tell me that?”
It was William, his hair standing up like black smeared spikes around his earnest red and black face, who told him.
“We can jolly well get a twopenny glass of lemonade each,” he said. “Come on.”