The latter was said in response to a crashing left jab in the ribs that made Bob lower his guard spasmodically. "At un, Ande; his faace now is like that of a roasted herring on a gridiron. Up and at un, lad!" Puckinharn's shouts were swelled by the voices of one or two others who had been silent before. Bob now sought to end the battle in close quarters, and rights and lefts were freely exchanged. Ande wheeled and his friends were silent in dread for a moment, but only for a moment. Bob staggered back with a heavy elbow jolt in the small ribs, but not before he had given his opponent a blow that sent him to the ground, dazed. Ande's pivot blow had left a bad opening. Bob seeing his opponent down, was rushing in to finish the contest on the ground, apparently, no rules having as yet been devised against it, when Tom Glaze shoved himself between. "Round's hup." The boys began to cheer for Bob, thinking that the battle was over and that Bob was a victor, but that worthy silenced them with a growl. "Shut up, will 'ee; 'e edent licked yet." His crestfallen adherents were silent. In the meantime some of the crowd had brought water to bathe and refresh the youthful gladiators. An old horse trough was used by Bob and a battered field kibbel[5] by Ande. The first round was manifestly Bob's. He had drawn first blood and had knocked his antagonist down. His face was untouched, while Ande's was a bit drawn; but to judge by the many soft rubs that Bob gave his ribs, he had not come out of the first round unscathed. [5] Kibbel--bucket. As Ande rested on Puckinharn's knee, that worthy gave him sundry pieces of advice. "Thee must keep on 'itting 'im in the ribs; 'e's taller than 'ee, and thee cussent reach 'is faace; 'e's sore and weak there now; 'e's gurking, I tell'ee." "Time!" called Tom Glaze, and to the fray again they rushed. Bully Bob, flattered by his adherents, had regained his confidence. He would finish the battle in close quarters, and rushed again and again, but his wily antagonist was as agile as an eel. Bob paused for breath and glared. "At un, Bob! Eat un up!" "I will," said Bob, "as soon as I catch un." The fighting continued, Ande playing his old tactics--hitting in the ribs and getting away. Puckinharn grinned in delight. Round two was up and honours were equally divided. Bob was filled with wrath. "See 'ere," he said to Tom Glaze, "I want to knaw if that is fair, for 'e to go running and dodging around like that? Us aren't playing fox and hounds. Why doan't 'e stand up and take and give like a man?" He was reassured by Glaze, and Glaze's word was law. "Thee didn't think it was unfair to crack to Ande when he was down, did 'ee,--thee great bucca," exclaimed Puckinharn. A bucca was the highest title of reproach that Puckinharn had in his vocabulary. "Silence," said Glaze; "the rules are that all dodging is allowed." "And wrastling, too," said Bob. "Aye, and wrastling, too," affirmed Glaze with a peculiar smile.