He ran forward, and with a bound leapt upon Jamie from behind, who, taken by surprise, went down with Montagu on the top of him. Over and over in the mud the boys rolled, kicking, scratching, thumping, doing everything, in fact, of a combative nature except bite. Mr. Wycherly remained where he was, watching them. Mause would fain have hurled herself into the press, too, but he caught the old dog by the collar just in time, and had hard work to hold her, as she bounced and barked and choked in her efforts to get free. He did not feel called upon to interfere between the boys, for they were not ill-matched, and Jamie had assuredly been the aggressor. Presently, however, he saw that Montagu was uppermost, that he had got his adversary by the throat, and was deliberately bumping the boy’s head on the ground, while he never relaxed his hold for an instant, and that Jamie was rapidly getting black in the face. Still holding Mause, Mr. Wycherly ran forward, shouting, "Loose him, Montagu; let him go, I say. Don’t you see you’re throttling the boy? You’ll choke him; let go, I say." "I want to choke him," Montagu gasped, as Mr. Wycherly, still holding the struggling Mause with one hand, attempted to drag his ward off the prostrate Jamie with the other. "I want to kill him. I’d have done it, too, if you hadn’t interfered." "Nonsense," Mr. Wycherly said sharply. "Don’t you know yet that you mustn’t keep on hitting a man when he’s down? Here, catch hold of Mause for me. Get up, boy!" And he half lifted the recumbent Jamie, who, though somewhat limp, was beginning to assume a normal complexion. Montagu glared at his foe like an angry terrier. "We haven’t finished," he cried. "Let me get at him to box him some more. You hold Mause again. Come on!" And Montagu, whose nose was bleeding, while one eye was rapidly disappearing in a tremendous bruise, danced up and down impatiently, in concert with the excited Mause. But Jamie was holding his neck and gasping. "I’ll no’ fecht nae mair wi’ yon wee teeger," he said slowly. "He’s gey an’ spunkie," he added, "for all he’s sae genty and mim. Ma certie! his hauns can tak a grup although they’re sae wee." "There, you see," said Mr. Wycherly. "He says that he has had enough, so, of course, you can’t go on any more. Now you must shake hands with each other, for it’s all over." Frankly, and with no sort of grudge, Jamie held out his square, brown fist. "I’ll no’ ca’ ye a puggie onny mair," he said handsomely. Montagu was still eyeing his late foe with some hostility: but as his guardian had bidden him to shake hands he felt it must be the proper thing to do, so he held out his hand. "Perhaps," he said hopefully, "you’ll fight with me again some day." "Ah’m no’ sae shure," Jamie replied cautiously, and in another minute was speeding on his swift, bare feet toward his mother’s cottage.