At Sunwich Port | Page 8

the
side-entrance into the back garden. Miss Nugent, following close
behind, sought to improve the occasion.
"See what you get by coming into our garden," she said.
The victim made no reply. He was writhing strenuously in order to
frustrate Mr. Wilks's evident desire to arrange him comfortably for the
administration of the stick he was carrying. Satisfied at last, the
ex-steward raised his weapon, and for some seconds plied it briskly.
Miss Nugent trembled, but sternly repressing sympathy for the sufferer,
was pleased that the long arm of justice had at last over-taken him.
"Let him go now, Sam," she said; "he's crying."
"I'm not," yelled Master Hardy, frantically.
"I can see the tears," declared Miss Nugent, bending.
Mr. Wilks plied the rod again until his victim, with a sudden turn,
fetched him a violent kick on the shin and broke loose. The ex-steward
set off in pursuit, somewhat handicapped by the fact that he dare not go
over flower-beds, whilst Master Hardy was singularly free from such
prejudices. Miss Nugent ran to the side-entrance to cut off his retreat.
She was willing for him to be released, but not to escape, and so it fell
out that the boy, dodging beneath Mr. Wilks's outspread arms, charged
blindly up the side-entrance and bowled the young lady over.
There was a shrill squeal, a flutter of white, and a neat pair of button
boots waving in the air. Then Miss Nugent, sobbing piteously, rose
from the puddle into which she had fallen and surveyed her garments.
Mr. Wilks surveyed them, too, and a very cursory glance was sufficient
to show him that the case was beyond his powers. He took the outraged
damsel by the hand, and led her, howling lustily, in to the horrified
Ann.
"My word," said she, gasping. "Look at your gloves! Look at your

frock!"
But Miss Nugent was looking at her knees. There was only a slight
redness about the left, but from the right a piece of skin was indubitably
missing. This knee she gave Ann instructions to foment with fair water
of a comfortable temperature, indulging in satisfied prognostications as
to the fate of Master Hardy when her father should see the damage.
The news, when the captain came home, was broken to him by degrees.
He was first shown the flower-beds by Ann, then Mrs. Kingdom
brought in various soiled garments, and at the psychological moment
his daughter bared her knees.
"What will you do to him, father?" she inquired.
The captain ignored the question in favour of a few remarks on the
subject of his daughter's behaviour, coupled with stern inquiries as to
where she learnt such tricks. In reply Miss Nugent sheltered herself
behind a list which contained the names of all the young gentlemen
who attended her kindergarten class and many of the young ladies, and
again inquired as to the fate of her assailant.
Jack came in soon after, and the indefatigable Miss Nugent produced
her knees again. She had to describe the injury to the left, but the right
spoke for itself. Jack gazed at it with indignation, and then, without
waiting for his tea, put on his cap and sallied out again.
He returned an hour later, and instead of entering the sitting-room went
straight upstairs to bed, from whence he sent down word by the
sympathetic Ann that he was suffering from a bad headache, which he
proposed to treat with raw meat applied to the left eye. His nose, which
was apparently suffering from sympathetic inflammation, he left to take
care of itself, that organ bitterly resenting any treatment whatsoever.
He described the battle to Kate and Ann the next day, darkly ascribing
his defeat to a mysterious compound which Jem Hardy was believed to
rub into his arms; to a foolish error of judgment at the beginning of the
fray, and to the sun which shone persistently in his eyes all the time.

His audience received the explanations in chilly silence.
"And he said it was an accident he knocked you down," he concluded;
"he said he hoped you weren't hurt, and he gave me some toffee for
you."
"What did you do with it?" demanded Miss Nugent.
"I knew you wouldn't have it," replied her brother, inconsequently,
"and there wasn't much of it."
His sister regarded him sharply.
"You don't mean to say you ate it?" she screamed.
"Why not?" demanded her brother. "I wanted comforting, I can tell
you."
"I wonder you were not too--too proud," said Miss Nugent, bitterly.
"I'm never too proud to eat toffee," retorted Jack, simply.
He stalked off in dudgeon at the lack of sympathy displayed by his
audience, and being still in need of comforting sought it amid the
raspberry-canes.
His father noted his son's honourable scars,