The two parties drew up on either end of the ground.
“Charge!” shouted Scarborough. Away they went, rattling along, till they met in the middle. Many hoops were overthrown; the rest of the boys, with loud shouts, rushed on to the end, wheeling their hoops round, to prepare for another charge. Those whose hoops had been knocked down assembled on one side, close to the side wicket. Spiller was there, and so were all the foraging party. Spiller had some tools in his hands. The next encounter of the hoops took place exactly in a line with that spot; and though several other boys went up to it, their numbers did not appear to have increased. All that afternoon the game of hoops went on, the boys knocking away with their sticks and shouting at the top of their voices; till poor Mr Sanford’s shattered nerves were almost completely unstrung.
At length, the voice of a man, who said he was a cake-man, was heard outside; and Spiller was dispatched, with a humble request to Mrs Pike for the key of the wicket, to allow him to enter.
In an incautious moment, influenced by the idea of saving her bread-and-butter, Mrs Pike gave up the key.
“I’ll soon be back with it, marm,” said Spiller, in his blandest tone.
The cake-man’s basket was soon emptied; but it appeared that he had another one outside, and the contents of that disappeared with equal rapidity. Pockets, and pocket-handkerchiefs, and hats, were quickly filled, and the things carried off to the play-room.
The foraging party had been out, and came in, one by one, in the rear of the cake-man, heavily laden. The expected hampers also arrived. They always put Mrs Pike in good humour. A very large one was for Scarborough, who never had had one before. They were eagerly pounced on by him and the boys, and carried off into the play-room.
The masters congratulated themselves altogether on the good behaviour of the boys.
Tommy Bray, however, managed to elude the vigilance of those watching him, and got off to Monsieur Guillaume’s room, to give him a hint of what was to occur; but the French master had gone to London for three days, and Tommy dared not tell anybody else, lest his name, as the informer, should afterwards transpire.
Night came, and all went to their rooms. Never, however, had Digby been more unhappy and less satisfied with himself since he came to the school. He prayed, but he felt that his prayers were hollow. He was not doing his duty to the best of his power. Probably several of his friends felt as he did, but they did not speak of their feelings to each other.