"Why, yes," said I, "that is, if you catch the enemy out of his intrenchments."
"Um-m-m-m!" said Hugh John, grimly rubbing his hands, "I'll catch him." In a lower tone he added, "And I'll teach him to put snowballs in the drip!"
As he spoke, he mimicked the motions of one who shoves snow down inside the collar of his adversary.
The cover of a deal box, with a soap advertisement on it, made a very fair intrenching tool, and soon formidable snow-works could be seen rising rapidly on the slopes of the clothes' drying ground, making a semicircle about that corner which contained the big iron swing, erect on its two tall posts. Hugh John and Maid Margaret, the attacking party, were still invisible, probably concocting a plan. But Sweetheart and Sir Toady, laughing and jesting as at some supreme stratagem, were busily employed throwing up the snow till it was nearly breast-high. The formation of the ground was in their favour. It fell away rapidly on all sides, except to the north, where the position was made impregnable by a huge prickly hedge.
Nominally they were supposed to be enacting The Antiquary, but actually I could not see that the scene without bore any precise relation to what they had been hearing within. Perhaps, however, the day was too cold and stormy for standing upon the exactitudes of history.
I did not remain all the time a spectator of the fray. The stated duel of twenty balls was over before I again reached the window. The combatants had entered upon the go-as-you-please stage. Indeed, I could gather so much even at my desk, by the confusion of yells and slogans emitted by the contending parties.
Presently the cry of "It's not fair!" brought me to the window.
Hugh John and Maid Margaret had evidently gained a certain preliminary success. For they had been able to reach a position from which (with long poles used at other times for the protection of the strawberry beds) they were enabled, under shelter themselves, to shake the branches of the big tree which overshadowed the swing and the position of the enemy. Every twig and branch was, of course, laden with snow, and masses fell in rapid succession upon the heads of the defenders. This was annoying at first, but at a word from Sir Toady, Sweetheart and he seized their intrenching tools, calling out: "Thank you—thank you! It's helping us so much! We've been wanting that badly! All our snow was gone, and we had to make balls off the ramparts. But now it's all right. Thank you—thank you!"
The truth of this grew so evident that the baffled assailants retired to consult. Nothing better than a frontal attack, well sustained and driven home to the hilt, occurred to Hugh John; and, indeed, after all, that was the best thing that could happen on such a day. A yell, a charge, a quick batter of snowballs, and then a rush straight up the bank—Maid Margaret, lithe as a deer-hound, leading, her skirts kilted "as like a boy" as on the spur of the moment she could achieve with a piece of twine. Right on Sweetheart she rushed, who,—as in some sort her senior and legal protector,—of course, could not be very rough with her, nor yet use the methods customary and licensed between embattled brothers.
But while the Maid thus held Sweetheart in play, Hugh John developed his stratagem. Leaning over the ramparts he seized Sir Toady by the collar, and then, throwing himself backward down the slope, confident in the thick blanketing of snow underneath, he dragged Sir Toady Lion along with him.
