pull off his apron!" was the cry.

In the scuffle the little girl was trodden on, and the cradle clean
upset. A crowd collected in the street. Cad Prog roared as loud as he
could, so did his little sister, so did the baby, so did Jimmy Bates, so
did Joe Bobbins, so did Harry Rasper, so did I. _I_ did not care what
happened; I went for Cad Prog, and have a vague idea of my hand and his
nose being near together, and louder yells still.

Then all of a sudden there was a tramp of heavy footsteps on the stairs,
and all I can remember after that was receiving a heavy cuff on my head,
being dragged down into the street, where--so it seemed to me for the
moment--at least a million people must have been congregated; and,
finally, I know not how, I was standing in the middle of my uncle's
study floor, with my coat gone, my mouth bleeding, and my cap, after
all, clean vanished!

It was a queer plight to be in. I heard a dinning in my ears of loud
voices, and when I looked at the bust on the top of the bookcase it
seemed to be toppling about anyhow. Some people were talking in the
room, but the only voice I could recognise was my uncle's. He was
saying something about "not wanting to shield me," and "locking-up," the
drift of which I afterwards slowly gathered, when the village
policeman--we only had one at Brownstroke--addressing my uncle as "your
honour," said he would look in in the morning for further orders.

At this interesting juncture the bust began to wobble about again, and I
saw and heard no more till I woke next morning, and found Mrs Hudson
mopping my forehead with something, and saying, "There now, Master
Freddy, lie quite still, there's a good boy."

"What's the matter?" said I, putting up my hand to the place she was
washing.

It was something like a bump!

"It's only a bruise, Master Freddy--no bones broken, thank God!" said
she, motioning me to be silent.

But I was in no mood to be silent. Slowly the recollection of
yesterday's events dawned on me.

"Did they get off Cad Prog's apron," I inquired, "after all?"

Of course, the good old soul thought this was sheer wandering of the
mind, and she looked very frightened, and implored me to lie still.

It was a long time before I perceived any connection between our chase
of the redoubtable Cad Prog up Side Street yesterday and my lying here
bruised and in a darkened room to-day. At last I supposed Mr Prog must
have conquered me; whereat I fired up