down-trodden English boy will sometimes fight; and in this case with the
pluck and steadiness learned in many a school encounter, unknown to Mr
Sibery or Mr Hippetts, the keen-eyed and stern.

Result: what might be expected. Dexter felt no pain, only an intense
desire to thrash the virulent little tyrant who had scratched his face,
kicked his shins, torn at his hair--it was too short still for a good
hold--and, finally, made his sharp, white teeth meet in his visitor's
neck.

"Served you right!" muttered Dexter, as he knelt down by the river, and
bathed his hands and face before dabbing them dry with his
pocket-handkerchief. "No business to treat me like that."

Then, as he stood rubbing his face--very little the worse for the
encounter--his anger all passed away, and the consequences of his act
dawned upon him.

"Look here," he said; "it was all your fault. Come to the water; that
will soon stop bleeding."

He held out his hand, as he bent over the fallen tyrant, meaning to help
him to rise, when, quick as lightning, Edgar caught the hand proffered
to him and carried it to his teeth.

Dexter uttered a cry of pain, and shook him off, sending him backwards
now upon the grass, just as a shadow fell across the contending boys,
and Sir James stood frowning there.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

MASTER EDDY "HOLLERS WAHOO!"

"What is the meaning of this!" cried Sir James furiously.

Dexter was speechless, and he shrank back staring.

Edgar was ready with an answer. "He's knocking me about, pa. He has
done nothing but knock me about ever since he came."

"Oh!" cried Dexter in a voice full of indignant astonishment. "I
didn't. He begun it, and I didn't, indeed."

"Silence, sir!" cried Sir James, in his severest magisterial tones.
"How dare you tell me such a falsehood? I saw you ill-using my son as
you held him down."

"Why, he had got hold of my hand!" cried Dexter indignantly.

"Got hold of your hand, sir? How dare you? How dare you, sir, I say?
I've a great mind to--"

Sir James did not finish his speech, but made a gesture with the
walking-cane he carried; and just then there was a loud hysterical
shriek.

For Lady Danby had realised the fact that something was wrong from the
part of the garden where she was promenading, parasol in hand, and she
came now panting up, in the full belief that some accident had happened
to her darling, and that he was drowned.

"Eddy, Eddy!" she cried, as she came up