Johnny was no bigger than Bobby, but he was practised at scuffles and his body was harder and firmer knit. Bobby tugged manfully, but almost before he knew it he was upset and hit the ground with a disconcerting whack. Of course, he continued to struggle, and the two, fiercely locked, whirled over and over through the leaves, but in a humiliatingly brief period Johnny had twisted him on his back and was sitting on his chest. "There, I told you I could lick you!" he cried triumphantly. "Let me up! Let me up, I tell you!" roared Bobby, kicking his legs and threshing his arms in a vain effort to budge the weight across his body. Johnny looked at him curiously. "Why! You ain't _mad_, are you!" He shrieked with the joy of the discovery. "Oh, kids! Come here and see him! He's getting mad!" Bobby's eyes filled with tears of rage. And then he saw quite plainly the top of a sand-hill and the village lying below and the blue of the River far distant. And he heard Mr. Kincaid's voice. "But, sonny, you can always be a sportsman, whatever you do," the voice said, "and a sportsman does things because he likes them, Bobby, for no other reason--not for money, nor to become famous, nor even to win----" He choked back his rage and forced a grin to his lips--very much the same sort that he had once accomplished when he "jumped up and laughed" at his mother's spanking, simply because he had been told to do that whenever he was hurt. "I'm not mad," he disclaimed and heaved so mighty a heave that Johnny, being unprepared by reason of shouting to the others, was tumbled off one side. Instantly Bobby jumped to his feet and scudded away. He was captured eventually--so were the others--but only after fierce struggles. Even did a policeman catch and hold a robber, to drag the latter to jail was no easy problem. For if he summoned the help of a brother officer that left at large an unattached robber who would create diversions and attempt rescues. At times all eight were piled in a breathless, tugging, rolling mass, while Carrie, behind her rustic table, looked on serenely lest some of the simple rules of the game be violated. In fact Carrie was just as severe in anticipation of possible infractions, as over the infractions themselves, which, perhaps, goes far to explain Carrie. Bobby returned home at lunch time to be received with horror by Mrs. Orde. "You're a sight!" she cried. "_Where_ have you been, and _what_ have you been doing? I never saw anything like you! And look at those holes in your stockings." "I've been playing robber 'n policeman with Johnny English and Carter Irvine and all the kids," explained Bobby blissfully. After lunch Mr. Orde kissed his son good-bye. "Going up in the woods for a week, sonny," said he. "Papa," asked Bobby holding tight to the man's hand, "can I have the kids shoot with my rifle?" "Not any!" cried Mr. Orde emphatically. "Not until I get back. Then maybe we'll have a shooting-match and invite all hands."