Will of the Mill | Page 6

"I can't!" cried Josh.
"He'd better! I'd break his neck."
"Never mind what he says, Josh. Kick! Kick hard!"
"Kick! I've got you tight. I could hold you for a wee--wee--"
He was going to say "week," but Fate proved to him that this was a
slight exaggeration on his part, and instead of finishing the word week
he gave vent to a good loud "oh!" Tor the heather roots had suddenly
given way, and the three contending parties descended the sharp slope
with a sudden rush, to be brought up short amongst the stones that
accompanied them in a contending heap, forming a struggling mass for
a few moments, before the strongest gained the day, the artist rising
first, and seating himself in triumph upon the beaten lads, to begin
dragging out his handkerchief to mop his face, as he panted
breathlessly--
"There, I've got you now!"
CHAPTER THREE.

THE ARTIST'S REVENGE.
It was not manly on Josh's part, but he was weak, beaten, quite in
despair; the artist was a heavy man; and he had his companion Will
upon him as well.
Consequently his tone was very pathetic, as he whimpered out--
"Here, you'd better let me alone!"
"Likely!" said the artist. "I wanted a model, and now you have got to sit
for me."
Will didn't whimper in the least. Pain and anger had put him in what
would have been a towering rage if he had not been prostrate on the
ground.
"Here, you get up," he said, in a bull-dog tone.
"By and by," cried the artist, coolly, as he began to recover his breath.
"I haven't made up my mind what I am going to do yet."
"If you don't get up, I'll bite," cried Will.
"You'd better! It's my turn now; I've got a long score to settle against
you two fellows, and I'm going to pay you out."
As he spoke, the artist took out his pipe and tobacco pouch, and began
to fill up.
"Get up!" shouted Will. "You hurt."
"So do you," said the artist, "you nasty, bony, little wretch! You feel as
if you must be half-starved."
As he uttered the words there was a loud scratching, and he struck a
match, lit his pipe, and began to smoke, while the boys, now feeling
themselves perfectly helpless, lay waiting to see what he would do
next.

"Ha!" said the artist. "I think that'll about do. You chaps are never
happy unless you are playing me some trick. I've put up with it for a
long time; but you know, young fellows, they say a worm will turn at
last. Well, I'm a worm, and I'm going to turn, and have my turn."
"What are you going to do?" cried Will.
"Want to know?"
"Of course I do."
"You'd better leave us alone," whimpered Josh.
"Think so? Well, I will, after I've done. I'm going to wash some of the
mischief out of you. I shall just tie your hands together--yes, I can
easily do it now--and then drop you both into the pool."
"What?" yelled Josh. "Why, you'd drown us!"
"Hold your noise, Josh. He daren't."
"Daren't! Why not? You are only boys, and all boys are a nuisance.
You've spoilt five of my canvases, and wasted a lot of my paint,
making scarecrows--at least, one of you did. But there, I won't be hard;
I'll only drop in the one who did it. Who was it? Was it you, Josh
Carlile?"
Josh was silent.
"Ah! I expect it was. It was he, wasn't it, Will?"
Will was silent too.
"Now I'm sure it was. Now then, Will; out with it. Tell me. It was Josh
Carlile, wasn't it?"
"Shan't tell," cried Will; "and if you don't let us get up directly, I'll poke
holes through all your canvases, and pitch your paints into the dam."

The artist filled his mouth as full of tobacco smoke as he could, bent
down, and puffed it in a long stream full in the boy's face, making him
struggle afresh violently, but all in vain.
"Well, you are a nice boy--very," said the artist. "Your father must be
very proud of you. It is quite time you were washed; you've a deal of
mischief in you that would be much better out. Now then, it was Josh
Carlile, wasn't it?"
"I won't tell you. Pitch us in if you dare. Don't you mind, Josh. He's
only saying it to frighten us."
"Yes; a very nice boy," said the artist, gravely; "but as I promised, I
won't be hard, for anyhow you've got some pluck. Look here, how did
you manage to get my gamp up yonder?"
"Went up above and fished for it," said Will, coolly.
"Fished for it? What with?"
"Water-cord and an eel-hook,"