If Oliver and Sammy had retired—as was the custom—to some secluded battlefield, no doubt the crisis would have been delayed. But inasmuch as Sammy had taken it into his head to torment little Jane Sage in so public a place as the playground it was only natural that her champion should offer battle on the spot. Moreover, he scorned Sammy’s invitation to “come on down back of the warehouse,” and likewise was indifferent to the warnings of peacemakers who urged them not to fight until they were safely out of all danger of being interfered with by the teacher. It is probable—aye, more than that, it is absolutely certain—that young Oliver wished to “lick” the offender in the presence of the offended, and that would have been quite out of the question had they repaired to some familiar jousting-ground. At any rate, he valiantly pitched into Sammy and was getting the better of him under the very eyes of his “ladye faire” when the not unexpected catastrophe occurred. Juvenile Rumley knew him far better than its seniors. It had seen him fight on more than one occasion—which was more than grown-up Rumley had seen or even suspected—but so loyal is youth that not a word of his or any other boy’s fistic exploits ever reached the ears of the blissfully ignorant. Messrs. Sikes and Link, having abandoned their original mission, were bent upon a new one. They were filled with a deep concern, and spoke but few words to each other in the course of the half-mile walk to the home of the Reverend Herbert Sage. Their reticence may have been due to the presence of little Jane Sage, who walked between them; or, it may have been due to the seriousness of their reflections. The statement that Jane walked between them is not an accurate one. It is true that Mr. Sikes held one of her hands while Mr. Link held the other, but her legs were short and theirs were long, and so there were times when her feet failed to touch the ground at all, or, in touching it, were sadly without sustained purpose. Shortly before seven o’clock that evening, Oliver October, fearing the worst, remarked three well-known figures coming up the path to the Baxter house. He had just finished his supper and was on the point of departing for the home of Sammy Parr down the road for a few minutes’ play before darkness fell. Seeing the three visitors and sensing the nature of their descent upon the home of his father, he stole out the back way, and, even as a dog retreats with his tail between his legs, made tracks toward the barn and its friendly hayloft. Something told him that Sammy’s parents already had received a call from the dread Committee of Three and perhaps were even now making it hot for Sammy—in which case that bosom friend of his would be in no mood for play. “Where’s Oliver October?” inquired Mr. Sikes of Mr. Baxter, who opened the door to admit his callers.