d ourselves give
chase to the first bully we saw, and take _his_ cap! The consequences
of course might be fearful--fatal; but the blood of the "Jenny Wrenites"
was up. Do it we would, or perish in the attempt.

I think we all got a little nervous as the afternoon school wore on and
the hour for departing approached. Indeed, when we were about to start,
Bates looked very like deserting straight away.

"Oh, you three go on," he said, "I'll catch you up; I just want to speak
to Jenny."

"No we don't," we all protested; "we'll wait here, if it takes you till
midnight to say what you've got to say to Jenny."

This valiant determination put an end to Bates's wavering, and with a
rueful face he joined us.

"Now, mind," said Rasper, "the first you see!"

"Well," exclaimed I, starting suddenly to run, "that's Cad Prog, the
butcher-boy, there; come along."

So it was! Of all our enemies Cad Prog was the most truculent, and most
feared. The sight of his red head coming round the corner was always
enough to strike panic into a score of youngsters, and even we bigger
boys always looked meek when Prog came out to defy us.

He was strolling guilelessly along, and didn't see us at first. Then
suddenly he caught sight of us approaching, and next moment the blue
apron and red head disappeared with a bolt round the corner.

"Come on!" shouted Rasper, who led.

"So we are!" cried we, and hue and cry was made for Cad Prog forthwith.

We sighted him as we turned the corner. He was making straight for the
market. Perhaps to get an axe, I thought, or to hide, or to tell my
uncle!

"Come on!" was the shout.

It's wonderful how a short sharp chase warms up the blood even of a
small boy of twelve. Before we were half down the street, even Bates
had no thought left of deserting, and we all four pressed on, each
determined not to be last.

The fugitive Prog kept his course to the market, but there doubled
suddenly and bolted down Side Street. That was where he lived; he was
going to run into his hole then, like a rabbit.

We gained no end on him in the turn, and were nearly up to him as he
reached the door of his humble home.

He bolted in--so did we. He bolted up stairs--so did we. He plunged
headlong into a room where was a little girl rocking a cradle--so did
we. Then began a wild scuffle.

"Catch him! Take his cap off!" cried Bobbins.

"He hasn't got a cap!" cried Rasper--"butcher-boys never have!"

"Then