"You mustn't touch it unless you handle it right," said he. "Shucks," repeated the light-haired boy, still reaching. Bobby, his heart beating a little more rapidly than usual, thrust himself in front of the other. "Ho!" cried the other, the joy of battle lighting up his dancing blue eyes. "Want to fight? I can lick you with one hand tied behind me." "This is my yard," said Bobby, "and that is my gun! And besides I didn't ask you to come in here, anyway." "Well, I can lick you, anyway," replied the other with unanswerable logic. The girl had been watching them narrowly, her hands on her hips, her head on one side. Now she interfered. "Johnnie, come off!" said she sharply. "No fighting! You're bigger than he is, and it _is_ his yard and his gun, and, anyway, he isn't afraid of you." Johnnie looked at her doubtfully, then turned to Bobby as to a companion under tyranny. "That's just like her," he complained. "She always spoils things! You ain't smaller than I am, anyhow. Never mind, we'll try it sometime when she ain't around. Let's see your old gun. I won't point it at anybody. Show me how she works." Bobby, a little stiffly at first, for he could not understand fighting without animosity, showed them how it worked. "Let me try her," urged Johnnie. But Bobby would not until he had asked his mother, for permission to shoot had been obtained only at expense of a very solemn promise. "Fraidy!" jeered Johnnie, "tied to his mammy's apron-strings!" Bobby flushed deeply, but stood his ground. "It's my gun," he pointed out again. "If you don't like my yard, you needn't come into it." "Oh, all right, we don't want to stay in your old yard," replied Johnnie. "Come on, kids." "Johnnie, come back here," commanded the girl sharply. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself! He's perfectly right! Suppose one of us should get shot!" "I'll get papa to shoot with us, if he will," promised Bobby. "Johnny, you come back here!" ordered the girl in more peremptory tones. "You come back or--or--_I'll sit on your head again!_" Johnny came back, entirely good-natured, his attractive blue eyes glancing here and there in restless activity. "Oh, all right," said he. "Let's play robbers and policemen." "We've left Carrie over the fence," insisted the girl. "Bother Carrie! Why don't she climb?" "You come over with us," the girl suggested to Bobby. "You're Bobby Orde, of course, we know. I'm May Fowler. I live in the big square house over that way. The boy with the yellow hair is Johnny English. The other one is Morton Drake. Come on." "Where is it?" asked Bobby. "Just over the fence. That's where the Englishes live. Haven't you been there yet?" "No," said Bobby.