He continued to walk round as though he had not heard. The carter painfully rose to his feet, and then with a torrent of abuse, rushed in mad fury at the waiting foe. A right from the shoulder caught John on the chest, breaking his guard, and sent him down to his knees with its sheer strength. The carter had no code to obey and was ready to follow up his advantage, but in this he was unwary. John waited until he stood over him, and with a crouching spring came up under the raw fellow's guard, reaching his chin again with some force. Shaken and somewhat dismayed with this surprising return of an apparently beaten adversary, he began to retreat, and John, still full of battle, saw his chance. There was some swift in-fighting which Miss Piggin could not follow, because now the amount of blood visible on both antagonists made her feel ill. She turned her head away. When she looked again, it was all over, John stood surveying the huddled up form of the beaten youth. "Can you get up?" he asked coolly. The voice was almost cruel in its tone, thought Miss Piggin. Then John stooped and pulled the sullen fellow to his feet. They stood facing one another for a long interval. "Will you shake hands?" said John, extending his. There was no response for a moment. "Yer...." snarled the carter, his eyes still full of battle. "I'm sorry then," said John unrolling his sleeves. There must have been something crossing the slow brain of the carter. His eyes changed expression. "Yer've won ... boss," he said slowly. John heard the changed tone and again held out his hand. The carter took it. But peace had left them both strange spectacles. The horse even seemed a little afraid of its master, and turned its head as he approached. He was wiping his face, which had begun to swell, with a red handkerchief. John was doing likewise. The absurdity of the whole affair was intensified in the process. Miss Piggin now approached and offered a diminutive handkerchief, which John accepted, for his own was soaked by a persistent nose. The right eye was slowly closing up. Without further comment the carter took his horse's head and led it off down the road. As John looked up and caught Miss Piggin's piteous expression, he could not help laughing. "I suppose I look a beautiful object?" "Oh, Mr. Dean!" was all she could say. If only he would faint now, all was safe! Her womanly instinct for nursing the brave rose within her. She would dearly have loved to hold him in her arms and bathe his face, and tidy his hair. But romance gave place to the practical. "You must come to the Vicarage first--you can't return like that." "No--I can't--but I want washing now before it dries," he replied. There was a canal bordering the next field; the road led over the canal bridge. The Vicarage was two miles away. "I'm going to swim in the canal!" he said. Miss Pilgrim shivered at the idea. "It's terribly cold!" she cried. "You will get a chill."