Then he cast fearful eyes to the rear. It was thirty yards to the fence and beyond there was but the unscreened path without a scrap of cover, leading across the plough, past the Moot Farm and abandoned kennels to the New Road. Alf saw at a glance that escape was impossible. Mr. Pigott, for all his forty years, could sprint. Swift as a cornered rat, Alf made his decision. He marched out from his shelter towards the approaching legs, a puny little creature with pale peaked face, and Ern's coat flung over his arm. Mr. Pigott was advancing, very grim and grey, across the rough grass, his hands behind him, dragging something. He seemed in no hurry, and not in the least surprised to see Alf, whom he ignored. "Please, sir," said Alf, perking his face up with an air of frankness, "there's a boy up your tree. Here's his coat." Mr. Pigott walked slowly on, drawing behind him a sixty-foot hose, which issued like a white snake from the scullery window. "I know," he said with suppressed quiet. "And I know who set him on to it. I can't beat you because you'd break if I touched you. But I'll take your brother's skin off him though he's twice the man you are, you dirty little cur!" He brought the hose to bear on the brigand in the tree, and loosed the water-spout and the vials of his wrath together. "Ah, you young scoundrel!" he roared, finding joy in explosive self-expression. "I'll teach you come monkeying after my nuts!" Swish went the stream of water through the branches. Ern hid as best he could on the leeward side of the trunk. Mr. Pigott brought his artillery mercilessly to bear upon the boy's clasping hands. Ern, spluttering and sprawling, came down the tree with a rush and made a bolt for the fence. Mr. Pigott, roaring jovially, played the stream full on him. It was a powerful gush, and floored the boy. The avenger knew no mercy and drenched his victim as he lay. It was a sodden little figure who crept home disconsolately ten minutes later. Alf had been back some time and had already told his tale, gibbering with excitement and fear. Ern's mother, in a white fury, was awaiting the boy in the kitchen. "I'll learn you disgrace me!" she cried. "Robbing your own chapel-manager's orchard--and then come home like a drownded rat!" She set about the lad in good earnest. Alf, perched upon the dresser to be out of the way, watched the fun, biting his nails. "You mustn't hit her back then!" he screamed. "Your own mother!" "I aren't hittin' her back then!" cried Ern, dogged, dazed, and warding off the blows as best he might. "I'm only defendin of mesalf." The noise of the scuffle was considerable. Outside in the passage was the sound of slippered feet. Then some one tried the door. "It's only dad!" cried the devil on the dresser, white and with little black eyes that danced. "What's up?" called an agitated voice from outside. "Hold on, mother! Give the boy a chance." Some one rattled the door.