the clock.

"Oh! come, that won't do," said Harry. "I know it's late. Don't I wish
I had a watch of my own; I should know what the real time was then."

Up he went to Fred's room with the same tale upon his lips respecting
the time, but as unbelieving as ever.

"Why, it is only four o'clock," said Philip, looking out of the window;
"and there's the sun just rising. Well, you are a chap, Hal, to wake
one up at this time of the morning and say it's late. I shall go to bed
again."

"So shall I," said Fred.

"No, you won't," said Harry; dragging the clothes together and making a
bundle, with which he ran off into his own room with both the others in
full chase. And then began a regular scrimmage, French and English
fashion, and Harry, having two enemies, was pulled down sprawling over a
rushbottom chair, and then nearly kicked over the washstand, making such
a clatter that the Squire knocked angrily at the wall; when off the
noisy ones ran back into Fred's room, Harry this time being the pursuer,
armed with his bolster, "Bang, crash--crash, bang--whiz--wuz--rush."
Fred went backwards upon his bed, _hors de combat_, from a well-directed
blow from Harry's bolster; and then at it went Harry and Phil--the
latter being armed with a pillow, down whose front a ghastly slit soon
showed itself; but Philip fought well, and Harry was getting worsted and
driven into the corner amongst the boots, where the footing was rather
bad for bare feet "Flop!" Harry caught it then and staggered back.
"Flop" again, for Philip was surpassing himself, and Harry having
received the last blow full upon the top of his head went down upon one
knee; but he rallied again, ducked to avoid the next blow, and diving
under Philip's arm came up behind, and "Whooz!" went the bolster bang
upon Phil's back, and "Crash!" went Philip forward, ram fashion, with
his head into the wardrobe door.

At it again: "whop--whop--flip--flop--bang," went pillow and bolster,
while Fred, sitting tailor fashion upon his bed, was rolling with
laughter. At last Philip began to shew signs of being beaten, and Harry
whirled his bolster round his head in order to administer the _coup de
grace_, when "crash!"--the water-bottle and tumbler were swept off the
dressing-table, splintering to pieces on the floor, and covering the
carpet with feet-piercing fragments and puddles of cold water.

"Oh! shan't we catch it!" said both combatants, ceasing the war, like
two enemies wh