Lorna Doone | Page 9

a mill, such as I have seen in counties where
are no waterbrooks, but folk make bread with wind--it is not for a man
devoid of scholarship to determine. Enough that they who made the
ring intituled the scene a "mill," while we who must be thumped inside

it tried to rejoice in their pleasantry, till it turned upon the stomach.
Moreover, I felt upon me now a certain responsibility, a dutiful need to
maintain, in the presence of John Fry, the manliness of the Ridd family,
and the honour of Exmoor. Hitherto none had worsted me, although in
the three years of my schooling, I had fought more than threescore
battles, and bedewed with blood every plant of grass towards the
middle of the Ironing-box. And this success I owed at first to no skill of
my own; until I came to know better; for up to twenty or thirty fights, I
struck as nature guided me, no wiser than a father-long-legs in the heat
of a lanthorn; but I had conquered, partly through my native strength,
and the Exmoor toughness in me, and still more that I could not see
when I had gotten my bellyful. But now I was like to have that and
more; for my heart was down, to begin with; and then Robert Snell was
a bigger boy than I had ever encountered, and as thick in the skull and
hard in the brain as even I could claim to be.
I had never told my mother a word about these frequent strivings,
because she was soft-hearted; neither had I told by father, because he
had not seen it. Therefore, beholding me still an innocent-looking child,
with fair curls on my forehead, and no store of bad language, John Fry
thought this was the very first fight that ever had befallen me; and so
when they let him at the gate, "with a message to the headmaster," as
one of the monitors told Cop, and Peggy and Smiler were tied to the
railings, till I should be through my business, John comes up to me
with the tears in his eyes, and says, "Doon't thee goo for to do it, Jan;
doon't thee do it, for gude now." But I told him that now it was much
too late to cry off; so he said, "The Lord be with thee, Jan, and turn thy
thumb-knuckle inwards."
It was not a very large piece of ground in the angle of the causeways,
but quite big enough to fight upon, especially for Christians, who loved
to be cheek by jowl at it. The great boys stood in a circle around, being
gifted with strong privilege, and the little boys had leave to lie flat and
look through the legs of the great boys. But while we were yet
preparing, and the candles hissed in the fog-cloud, old Phoebe, of more
than fourscore years, whose room was over the hall-porch, came

hobbling out, as she always did, to mar the joy of the conflict. No one
ever heeded her, neither did she expect it; but the evil was that two
senior boys must always lose the first round of the fight, by having to
lead her home again.
I marvel how Robin Snell felt. Very likely he thought nothing of it,
always having been a boy of a hectoring and unruly sort. But I felt my
heart go up and down as the boys came round to strip me; and greatly
fearing to be beaten, I blew hot upon my knuckles. Then pulled I off
my little cut jerkin, and laid it down on my head cap, and over that my
waistcoat, and a boy was proud to take care of them. Thomas Hooper
was his name, and I remember how he looked at me. My mother had
made that little cut jerkin, in the quiet winter evenings. And taken pride
to loop it up in a fashionable way, and I was loth to soil it with blood,
and good filberds were in the pocket. Then up to me came Robin Snell
(mayor of Exeter thrice since that), and he stood very square, and
looking at me, and I lacked not long to look at him. Round his waist he
had a kerchief busking up his small-clothes, and on his feet light
pumpkin shoes, and all his upper raiment off. And he danced about in a
way that made my head swim on my shoulders, and he stood some
inches over me. But I, being muddled with much doubt about John Fry
and his errand, was only stripped of my jerkin and waistcoat, and not
comfortable to begin.
"Come now, shake hands," cried a big boy, jumping in joy of the
spectacle, a third-former nearly six feet high; "shake