ater in the crown of one of their caps. In
five minutes all was ready, and the two boys stood face to face and foot
to foot, with their fists doubled and revolving, and a ring of boys
around them.

Just at this critical moment the kitten, having found the process of
licking itself dry more fatiguing than it had expected, gave vent to a
faint mew of distress. It was all that was wanting to set Martin's
indignant heart into a blaze of inexpressible fury. Bob Croaker's
visage instantly received a shower of sharp, stinging blows, that had
the double effect of taking that youth by surprise and throwing him down
upon the green sward. But Martin could not hope to do this a second
time. Bob now knew the vigour of his assailant, and braced himself
warily to the combat, commencing operations by giving Martin a
tremendous blow on the point of his nose, and another on the chest.
These had the effect of tempering Martin's rage with a salutary degree
of caution, and of eliciting from the spectators sundry cries of warning
on the one hand, and admiration on the other, while the young champions
revolved warily round each other, and panted vehemently.

The battle that was fought that day was one of a thousand. It created
as great a sensation in the village school as did the battle of Waterloo
in England. It was a notable fight; such as had not taken place within
the memory of the oldest boy in the village, and from which, in after
years, events of juvenile history were dated,--especially pugilistic
events, of which, when a good one came off it used to be said that,
"such a battle had not taken place since the year of the Great Fight."
Bob Croaker was a noted fighter, Martin Rattler was, up to this date, an
untried hero. Although fond of rough play and boisterous mischief, he
had an unconquerable aversion to _earnest_ fighting, and very rarely
indeed returned home with a black eye,--much to the satisfaction of Aunt
Dorothy Grumbit, who objected to all fighting from principle, and
frequently asserted, in gentle tones, that there should be no soldiers
or sailors (fighting sailors, she meant) at all, but that people ought
all to settle everything the best way they could without fighting, and
live peaceably with one another, as the Bible told them to do. They
would be far happier and better off, she was sure of that; and if
everybody was of her way of thinking, there would be neither swords, nor
guns, nor pistols, nor squibs, nor a