ged; while the boys, fiercely silent, rocked to and fro; and
Christine sobbed piteously--"He's hurting Roy--he's _killing_ Roy!"

Tara, fully occupied with Prince, could only jerk out: "Don't be a baby,
Chris. Roy's all right. He loves it." Which Christine simply didn't
believe. There was blood on his tussore shirt. It mightn't be his, but
still----

It made even Tara feel rather sick; and when a young gardener appeared
on the scene she called out: "Oh, Mudford, do stop them--or something'll
happen."

But Mudford--British to the bone--would do nothing of the kind. He saw
at once that Roy was getting the better of an opponent nearly twice his
weight; and setting down his barrow he shamelessly applauded his young
master.

By now, the enemy's nose was bleeding freely and spoiling the brand-new
blazer. He gasped and spluttered: "Drop it, you little beast!" But Roy,
fired by Mudford's applause, only hit out harder.

"'Pologise--'pologise! Say she isn't!"

His forward jerk on the words took Joe unawares. The edge of the lawn
tripped him up and they rolled on the grass, Joe undermost in a close
embrace----

And at that critical moment there came strolling round the corner of the
hedge a group of grown-ups--Sir Nevil Sinclair with Mrs Bradley, Lady
Roscoe, Lady Despard and Roy's godfather, the distinguished novelist,
Cuthbert Broome.

Mudford and his barrow departed; and Tara looked appealingly at her
mother.

Roy--intent on the prostrate foe--suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder
and heard his father's voice say sharply: "Get up, Roy, and explain
yourself!"

They got up, both of them--and stood there, looking shy and stupefied
and very much the worse for wear:--hair ruffled, faces discoloured,
shirts torn open. One of Roy's stockings was slipping down; and, in the
midst of his confused sensations, he heard the excited voice of Mrs
Bradley urgently demanding to know what her "poor dear boy" could have
done to be treated like that.

No one seemed to answer her; and the poor dear boy was too busy
comforting his nose to take much interest in the proceedings.

Lady Despard (you could tell at a glance she was Tara's mother) was on
her knees comforting Christine; and as Roy's senses cleared, he saw with
a throb of relief that his mother was not there. But Aunt Jane was--and
Uncle Cuthbert----

He seemed to stand there panting and aching in an endless silence, full
of eyes. He did not know that his father was giving h