“The next thing is to kill him; and it shall be done,” the furious youth replied, while he swung the gentleman's big stick, which he had seized, and danced round his foe with the speed of a wild-cat. “Don't meddle, or it will be worse for you. You heard what he said of me. Get out of the way.” “Indeed, my young friend, I shall do nothing of the sort.” But the old man was not at all sure that he could do much; such was the fury and agility of the youth, who jumped three yards for every step of his, while the poor old soldier could not move. The boy skipped round the protecting figure, whose grasp he eluded easily, and swinging the staff with both arms, aimed a great blow at the head of his enemy. Suddenly the other interposed the bench, upon which the stick fell, and broke short; and before the assailant could recover from the jerk, he was a prisoner in two powerful old arms. “You are so wild that we must make you fast,” his captor said, with a benignant smile; and struggle as he might, the boy was very soon secured. His antagonist drew forth a red bandana handkerchief, and fastened his bleeding hands behind his back. “There, now, lad,” he said, “you can do no mischief. Recover your temper, sir, and tell us who you are, as soon as you are sane enough to know.” Pet, having spent his just indignation, began to perceive that he had made a bad investment. His desire had been to maintain in this particular spot strict privacy from all except Insie, to whom in the largeness of love he had declared himself. Yet here he stood, promulged and published, strikingly and flagrantly pronounced! At first he was like to sulk in the style of a hawk who has failed of his swoop; but seeing his enemy arising slowly with grunts, and action nodose and angular--rather than flexibly graceful--contempt became the uppermost feature of his mind. “My name,” he said, “if you are not afraid of it, that you tie me in this cowardly low manner, is--Lancelot Yordas Carnaby.” “My boy, it is a long name for any one to carry. No wonder that you look weak beneath it. And where do you live, young gentleman?” Amazement sat upon the face of Pet--a genuine astonishment, entirely pure from wrath. It was wholly beyond his imagination that any one, after hearing his name, should have to ask him where he lived. He thought that the question must be put in low mockery, and to answer was far beneath his dignity. By this time the veteran Jack of the Smithies had got out of his trap, and was standing stiffly, passing his hand across his sadly smitten eyes, and talking to himself about them.