face whoever
it was that had struck me so cruel a blow.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

MASTER PHILIP.

"What! I caught you then, did I?" cried a sharp unpleasant voice.
"Just dropped upon you, did I, my fine fellow? You scoundrel, how dare
you steal our peaches!"

The speaker was a boy of somewhere about my own age, and as I faced him
I saw that he was thin, and had black hair, a yellowish skin, and dark
eyes. He was showing his rather irregular teeth in a sneering smile
that made his hooked nose seem to hang over his mouth, while his
high-pitched, harsh, girlish voice rang and buzzed in my ears in a
discordant way.

I did not answer; I felt as if I could not speak. All I wanted to do
was to fly at him and strike out wildly, while something seemed to hold
me back as he stood vapouring before me, swishing about the thin, black,
silver-handled cane he carried, and at every swish he cut some leaf or
twig.

"How dare you strike me?" I cried at last furiously, and I advanced
with my teeth set and my lists clenched, forgetting my position there,
and not even troubling myself in my hot passion to wonder who or what
this boy might be.

"How dare I, you ugly-looking dog!" he cried, retreating before me a
step or two. "I'll soon let you know that. Who are you, you thief?"

"I'm not a thief," I shouted, wincing still with the pain.

"Yes, you are," he cried. "How did you get in here? I've caught you,
though, and we shall know now where our fruit goes when we get the
blame. Here, out you come."

The boy caught me by the collar, and I seized him by the arms with a
fierce, vindictive feeling coming over me; but he was very light and
active, and, wresting himself partly free, he gave the cane a swing in
the air, raised it above his head, and struck at me with all his might.

I hardly know how it all occurred in the hurry and excitement, but I
know that I gave myself a wrench round, driving him back as I did so,
and making a grasp at the cane with the full intention of getting it
from him and thrashing him as hard as I could in return for his blow.

He missed his aim: I missed mine. My hand did not go near the cane; the
cane did not come down as he intended upon my back, but with a fierce
swish struck the branch of one of the peaches, breaking it so that it
hung by the bark and a few fibres, while three or four of the ripe fruit
fell with heavy thuds upon the ground.

"There, now you've done it, you young rough!