Lamb's tormentors at first let Hugh alone in amazement; but they were not long in growing angry with him too. They hustled him--they pulled him all ways--they tripped him up; but Hugh's spirit was roused, and that brought his body up to the struggle again and again. He wrenched himself free, he scrambled to his feet again, as often as he was thrown down; and in a few minutes he had plenty of support. Phil was taking his part, and shielding him from many blows. Firth had got Lamb out of the hole, and the party against the tormentors was now so strong that they began to part off till the struggle ceased. Firth kept his grasp of the spade; for Lamb's passion still ran so high that there was no saying what might be the consequences of leaving any dangerous weapon within his reach. He was still fuming and stamping, Hugh gazing at him the while in wonder and fear. "There stands your defender, Lamb," said Firth, "thinking he never saw a boy in a passion before. Come, have done with it for his sake: be a man, as he is. Here, help me to fill up this hole--both of you. Stamp down the earth, Lamb. Tread it well--tread your anger well down into it. Think of this little friend of yours here--a Crofton boy only yesterday." Lamb did help to fill the hole, but he did not say a word--not one word to anybody till the dinner-bell rang. Then, at the pump, where the party were washing their hot and dirty and bruised hands, he held out his hand to Hugh, muttering, with no very good grace-- "I don't know what made you help me, but I will never be in a passion with you;--unless you put me out, that is." Hugh replied that he had come to help because he never could bear to see anybody _made worse_. He always tried at home to keep the little boys and girls off "drunk old Tom," as he was called in the neighbourhood. It was such a shame to make anybody worse! Lamb looked as if he was going to fly at Hugh now: but Firth put his arm round Hugh's neck, and drew him into the house, saying in his ear-- "Don't say any more that you have no friends here. You have me for one; and you might have had another--two in one morning--but for your plain speaking about drunk old Tom." "Did I say any harm?" "No--no harm," replied Firth, laughing. "You will do, my boy--when you have got through a few scrapes. I'm your friend, at any rate." CHAPTER SIX. FIRST RAMBLE.