neither feared the contest nor desired it. He had no wish to quarrel
with Saurin, a fellow he did not care for, it is true, but whom he did
not think sufficiently about to dislike. He thought rather better of
him for having the pluck to attack him, and was a little ashamed of his
own bitter words which had goaded the other into doing it. But really
the fellow had addressed him in such an overbearing and insolent manner
that he could not help replying as he did. After all, if he had to
fight someone, he would rather it were Saurin than anyone else, since he
appeared to hate him so much.

But if Crawley was cool about the matter, his antagonist was very much
the reverse. When his passion expended itself, he was not free from
apprehension of the consequences of what he had done. Supposing he were
ignominiously defeated, after having provoked the contest, what a
humiliating position he would be placed in? In every way in which he
had competed with Crawley he had hitherto been worsted, and he could not
help fearing lest this superiority should still be maintained. However,
the die was cast, he was in for it now, and must go through with it as
best he could, and, after all, his recently acquired skill must stand
him in good stead. Reason in this way as he might, however, he was
nervous, and could not settle to anything for long. On Friday night,
while Crawley was working in his room, there came a knock at the door,
and when he called out, "Come in!" Tom Buller entered.

"I have got something I want to tell you, Crawley," he said. "I have
just found out that Saurin has been taking lessons in boxing."

"Oh! of whom? Stubbs, Edwards, or someone equally formidable?"

"No; of Wobbler the pedestrian, who was once a pugilist, and who has
been giving boxing lessons at Slam's."

"Oh! I see, that is what has screwed his courage up to the proper
pitch. I understand it all now."

"Yes, but avoid wrestling with him; he is good at the cross-buttock, I
hear. May I be your second?"

"Certainly you may, if you like; Robarts is the other, and thank you for
wishing it, Buller."

CHAPTER SIX.

THE FIGHT.

Beyond the fields where cricket was played there was a little wood, and
in this wood a circular hollow, like a pond, only there was no water in
it. It was a wonderful spot for wild flowers in the spring, and that
was probably the reason why some romantic person had named it The
Fairies' Dell. The boys, who wer