nd before their learned heads had had time to invent a new one, we had
had time to muster up courage and tell one another we didn't care what
they did.

Such a period had occurred just before my story opens. It was a whole
month since the town boys had made our lives unhappy by calling, and
howling, and yelling, and squeaking on every occasion they met us the
following apparently inoffensive couplet:--

"A, B, C, Look at the baby!"

How we hated that cry, and quailed when we heard it! However, after
about a fortnight's diligent use of this terrible weapon the town boys
subsided for a season, and we plucked up heart again. Four whole weeks
passed, and we were never once molested! Something must be wrong in the
village! Of course we all came to the conclusion that the town boys had
at last seen the error of their ways, and were turning over new leaves.

Rash dream! One day when we were least expecting it, the "Philistines
were upon us" again, and this time their device was to snatch off our
caps! It was too terrible to think of! We could endure to be hooted
at, and pelted, and said "A, B, C" to, but to have our little Scotch
caps snatched off our heads and tossed over pailings and into puddles,
was too much even for the meek disciples of Jenny Wren. The poor little
boys got their mothers to fasten elastics to go under their chins, and
even so walked nearly half a mile round to avoid the market cross. It
was no use, the manoeuvre was discovered, and not only did the
youngsters have their caps taken, but were flipped violently by the
elastics in the face and about the ears in doing so. As for us older
ones, some ran, other walked with their caps under their tunics, others
held them on with both hands. The result was the same; our caps were
captured!

Then did Jimmy Bates, and Joe Bobbins, and Harry Rasper, and I, meet one
day, and declare to one another, that this sort of thing was not to be
stood.

"Let's tell Mother Wren," said one.

"Or the policeman," said another.

"Let's write and tell Fred Batchelor's uncle," said another. That
referred to my relative, who was always counted a "nob" in the village.

"I say, don't do any," said the redoubtable Bobbins. "The next time
they do it to me _I_ mean to kick!"

The sentiment was loudly applauded, and a regular council of war was
held, with the following decision. We four were to go home together
that afternoon, and without waiting to be chased, woul