Will of the Mill | Page 6

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," growled Will. "I say, Mr Manners, this is bad manners, you know; you do hurt awfully."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the artist, boisterously. "Fished it up with an eel-hook? Well, I suppose I am heavy. Look here, if I let you get up, will you fish it down?"
"Won't promise," growled Will.
"All right; I believe you will," and he rolled off, leaving the boys at liberty to spring up, Josh to begin rubbing himself all over, Will to dash to the first big stone, catch it up, and make an offer as if to throw it at the artist's head.
The latter blew a cloud of smoke at the passionate-looking lad, and sat looking him full in the face.
"All right," he said, coolly; "chuck!"
Will raised the stone as high as he could, and hurled it with all his might high in the air so that it should fall with a heavy splash into the