y, he snatched at and caught the stick just as it came near his face.

"Let go of that stick! Do you hear?" cried Edgar.

For response Dexter, who was now roused, held on tightly, and tried to
pull the stick away.

"Let go," cried Edgar, tugging and snatching with all his might.

Dexter's rage was as evanescent as it was quick. It passed away, and as
his enemy made another furious tug at the stick Dexter suddenly let go,
and the consequence was the boy staggered back a few yards, and then
came down heavily in a sitting position upon the grass.

Edgar sat and stared for a few moments, the sudden shock being anything
but pleasant; but, as he saw Dexter's mirthful face, a fit of rage
seized him, and, leaping up, he resumed his attack with the stick.

This time his strokes and thrusts were so malicious, and given with so
decided a desire to hurt his victim as much as was possible, that, short
of running away, Dexter had to do everything possible to avoid the
blows.

For the most part he was successful; but at last he received so numbing
a blow across the arm that he quivered with pain and anger as he sprang
forward, and, in place of retreating, seized the stick, and tried to
wrest it away.

There was a brief struggle, but pretty full of vigour.

Rage made Edgar strong, and he fought well for his weapon, but at the
end of a minute's swaying here and there, and twistings and heavings
innumerable, Edgar's arms felt as if they were being torn from his body,
the stick was wrenched away, and as he stood scarlet with passion, he
saw it whirled into the air, to fall with a loud splash into the river.

Edgar ground his teeth for a moment or two, and then, as white with
anger as his adversary was red, he flew at him, swaying his arms round,
and then there was a furious encounter.

Edgar had his own ideas about fighting manoeuvres, which he had tried
again and again upon his nurse in bygone times, and upon any of the
servants with whom he had come in contact. His arms flew round like
flails, or as if he had been transformed into a kind of human firework,
and for the next five minutes he kicked, scratched, bit, and tore at his
adversary; the next five minutes he was seated upon the grass, howling,
his nose bleeding terribly, and the crimson stains carried by his hands
all over his face.

For Dexter was not perfect: he had borne till it was impossible to bear
more, and then, with his anger surging up, he had fought as a