is, he rushed at the foe
head foremost, and struck like a windmill. He was a lumpy boy. When he
did hit, he made himself felt; but he was at the mercy of science. To see
him come dashing in, blinking and puffing and whirling his arms abroad
while the felling blow went straight between them, you perceived that he
was fighting a fight of desperation, and knew it. For the dreaded
alternative glared him in the face that, if he yielded, he must look like
what he had been twenty times calumniously called; and he would die
rather than yield, and swing his windmill till he dropped. Poor boy! he
dropped frequently. The gallant fellow fought for appearances, and down
he went. The Gods favour one of two parties. Prince Turnus was a noble
youth; but he had not Pallas at his elbow. Ripton was a capital boy; he
had no science. He could not prove he was not a fool! When one comes to
think of it, Ripton did choose the only possible way, and we should all
of us have considerable difficulty in proving the negative by any other.
Ripton came on the unerring fist again and again; and if it was true, as
he said in short colloquial gasps, that he required as much beating as an
egg to be beaten thoroughly, a fortunate interruption alone saved our
friend from resembling that substance. The boys heard summoning voices,
and beheld Mr. Morton of Poer Hall and Austin Wentworth stepping towards
them.

A truce was sounded, jackets were caught up, guns shouldered, and off
they trotted in concert through the depths of the wood, not stopping till
that and half-a-dozen fields and a larch plantation were well behind
them.

When they halted to take breath, there was a mutual study of faces.
Ripton's was much discoloured, and looked fiercer with its natural
war-paint than the boy felt. Nevertheless, he squared up dauntlessly on
the new ground, and Richard, whose wrath was appeased, could not refrain
from asking him whether he had not really had enough.

"Never!" shouts the noble enemy.

"Well, look here," said Richard, appealing to common sense, "I'm tired of
knocking you down. I'll say you're not a fool, if you'll give me your
hand."

Ripton demurred an instant to consult with honour, who bade him catch at
his chance.

He held out his hand. "There!" and the boys grasped hands and were fast
friends. Ripton had gained his point, and Richard decidedly had the best
of it. So, they were on equal ground. Both, could claim a victory, which
was all the bet