tead of heathens, they now looked like Red Indians; for they had
remembered the dry blankets in the haversacks, had taken them out, and
were wrapped in them like a pair of braves.

They saw nothing of the angry farmer till he burst upon them through a
thicket of brambles within a dozen yards of the fire, so busy were they
with turning their steaming clothes.

The farmer's wrath rose higher at sight of the steam and smoke. A fire
was the very thing he had defied the gipsies again and again to make on
his land. He cracked his whip with a vicious snap, and rushed upon the
scouts.

'I'll larn ye to make a fire on my land arter the many times I've
a-warned ye,' he bellowed.

The attack and the outcry were both so sudden that the scouts were
taken by surprise. Dick was on the side of the rush. He saw that an
onslaught was meant, though he knew not why, and grabbed at his staff.
He forgot to keep hold of the blanket, and it slid to the ground, and
left him defenceless. Down came the hissing thong, and wrapped itself
right round him, a regular rib-binder.

A yell of pain burst from the Wolf's lips; then he shut his teeth
tight. The surprise had forced that first cry from him, and he did not
intend to utter another. But the whip was already hissing through the
air, and flight was the only thing possible; he made a spring clean
across the heap of drying clothes, and fled.

'Tom, Tom,' panted a shrill voice behind, 'why will ye be so franzy?
These be no gipsy lads. Look at their clothes a-dryin'!'

The farmer's wife, well knowing her husband's impetuous temper, had
followed up, and at sight of her Dick tucked himself away behind a
wide-stemmed beech.

The farmer looked down at the heap of steaming clothes, and was struck
with the force of his wife's remark.

'Why, 'tis a sort o' uniform,' he muttered.

'O' course it's a uniform,' cried Chippy, who had stood his ground
wrapped in his blanket and flourishing the tomahawk. 'It's the uniform
o' Baden-Powell's Boy Scouts, an' what ye want to come 'ere for an'
fetch my mate one acrost the ribs I'm blest if I know.'

'Bring my blanket here, Chippy,' called out Dick from his refuge. 'I
dropped it in my hurry.'

'Why, ye see, I thought 'twor gipsy tramps startin' a fire in this
copse, an' I've forbid it,' said the farmer slowly, scratching his
head, and gradually getting hold of the idea that he had made a
full-sized mistake.

'Tramps!' snorted Chippy in scorn, t