ed it again. Aunt, they got the worst of it this
time."

"You--you thrashed them?" cried the doctor, excitedly.

"Yes, uncle."

"Alone?"

"Oh, yes: only with someone looking on."

"But you beat them alone; gave them a thorough good er--er--licking, as
you call it, sir?"

"Yes, uncle; awful."

"Quite beat them?"

"Knocked them into smithereens; had them both down, one on the other,
and sat on the top for half an hour."

The doctor caught Vane's right hand in his left, held it out, and
brought his own right down upon it with a sounding spank, gripped it,
and shook the bruised member till Vane grinned with pain.

"Oh, my dear!" remonstrated Aunt Hannah, "you are hurting him, and you
are encouraging him in a practice that--"

"Makes perfect," cried the doctor, excitedly. "By George! I wish I had
been there!"

"My dear!"

"I do, Hannah. It makes me feel quite young again. But come and have
your tea, you young dog--you young Roman--you Trojan, you--well done,
Alexander. But stop!--those two young scoundrels. Hi! where's Bruff?"

"Stop, uncle," cried Vane, leaping up and seizing the doctor's
coat-tails. "What are you going to do?"

"Send Bruff for Bates, and set him on the young scoundrels' track. I
shan't rest till I get them in jail."

"No, no, uncle, sit down," said Vane, with a quiver in his voice. "We
can't do that."

Then he told them all.

As Vane ended his narrative, with the doctor pacing up and down the
room, and Martha fussing because the delicate cutlets she had prepared
were growing cold, Aunt Hannah was seated on the carpet by her nephew's
chair, holding one of his bruised hands against her cheek, and weeping
silently as she whispered, "My own brave boy!"

As she spoke, she reached up to press her lips to his, but Vane shrank
away.

"No, no, aunt dear," he said, "I'm not fit to kiss."

"Oh, my own brave, noble boy," she cried; and passing her arms about his
neck, she kissed him fondly.

"Who's encouraging the boy in fighting now?" cried the doctor, sharply.

"But, how could he help it, my dear?" said Aunt Hannah.

"Of course; how could he help it." Then changing his manner, he laid
his hand upon Vane's shoulder.

"You are quite right, Vane, lad. Let them call you Weathercock if they
like, but you do always point to fair weather, my boy, and turn your
back on foul. No: there must be no police business. The young
scoundrels have had their punishment--the right sort;