The idea of _giving up_ was more intolerable to Archer than all the rest. He saw that the majority, his own convincing argument, was against him. He was therefore obliged to condescend to the arts of persuasion. He flattered some with hopes of food from the town boys. Some he reminded of their promises; others he praised for former prowess; and others he shamed by the repetition of their high vaunts in the beginning of the business. It was at length resolved that at all events they _would hold out_. With this determination they stretched themselves again to sleep, for the second night, in weak and weary obstinacy. Archer slept longer and more soundly than usual the next morning, and when he awoke, he found his hands tied behind him! Three or four boys had just got hold of his feet, which they pressed down, whilst the trembling hands of Fisher were fastening the cord round them. With all the force which rage could inspire, Archer struggled and roared to “_his Archers_!”—his friends, his party—for help against the traitors. But all kept aloof. Townsend, in particular, stood laughing and looking on. “I beg your pardon, Archer, but really you look so droll. All alive and kicking! Don’t be angry. I’m so weak, I cannot help laughing to-day.” The packthread cracked. “His hands are free! He’s loose!” cried the least of the boys, and ran away, whilst Archer leaped up, and seizing hold of Fisher with a powerful grasp, sternly demanded “What he meant by this?” “Ask my party,” said Fisher, terrified; “they set me on; ask my party.” “Your party!” cried Archer, with a look of ineffable contempt; “you reptile!—_your_ party? Can such a thing as _you_ have a party?” “To be sure!” said Fisher, settling his collar, which Archer in his surprise had let go; “to be sure! Why not? Any man who chooses it may have a party as well as yourself, I suppose. I have nine Fishermen.” At these words, spoken with much sullen importance, Archer, in spite of his vexation, could not help laughing. “Fishermen!” cried he, “_Fishermen_!” “And why not Fishermen as well as Archers?” cried they. “One party is just as good as another; it is only a question which can get the upper hand; and we had your hands tied just now.” “That’s right, Townsend,” said Archer, “laugh on, my boy! Friend or foe, it’s all the same to you. I know how to value your friendship now. You are a mighty good fellow when the sun shines; but let a storm come, and how you slink away!” At this instant, Archer felt the difference between _a good companion_ and a good friend, a difference which some people do not discover till late in life. “Have I no friend?—no real friend amongst you all? And could ye stand by, and see my hands tied behind me like a thief’s? What signifies such a party—all mute?” “We want something to eat,” answered the Fishermen. “What signifies _such_ a party, indeed? and _such_ a manager, who can do nothing for one?” “And have _I_ done nothing?”