!' cried the Pig-man in noble tones, and H. O. started
running to do it. But the scoundrels struggled from under Dicky and our
tramp, shook off the dogs and some bits of trouser, and fled heavily
down the road.

Our Pig-man said, 'Get along home!' to the disagreeable boys, and
'Shoo'd' them as if they were hens, and they went. H. O. ran back when
they began to go up the road, and there we were, all standing breathless
in tears on the scene of the late desperate engagement. Oswald gives you
his word of honour that his and Dicky's tears were tears of pure rage.
There are such things as tears of pure rage. Anyone who knows will tell
you so.

We picked up our own tramp and bathed the lump on his forehead with
lemonade. The water in the zinc bath had been upset in the struggle.
Then he and the Pig-man and his kind friends helped us carry our things
home.

The Pig-man advised us on the way not to try these sort of kind actions
without getting a grown-up to help us. We've been advised this before,
but now I really think we shall never try to be benevolent to the poor
and needy again. At any rate not unless we know them very well first.

We have seen our own tramp often since. The Pig-man gave him a job. He
has got work to do at last. The Pig-man says he is not such a very bad
chap, only he will fall asleep after the least drop of drink. We know
that is his failing. We saw it at once. But it was lucky for us he fell
asleep that day near our benevolent bar.

I will not go into what my father said about it all. There was a good
deal in it about minding your own business--there generally is in most
of the talkings-to we get. But he gave our tramp a sovereign, and the
Pig-man says he went to sleep on it for a solid week.

CHAPTER 12. THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS

The author of these few lines really does hope to goodness that no one
will be such an owl as to think from the number of things we did when we
were in the country, that we were wretched, neglected little children,
whose grown-up relations sparkled in the bright haunts of pleasure, and
whirled in the giddy what's-its-name of fashion, while we were left to
weep forsaken at home. It was nothing of the kind, and I wish you to
know that my father was with us a good deal--and Albert's uncle (who is
really no uncle of ours, but only of Albert next door when we lived
in Lewisham) gave up a good many of his valuable hours to us. And the
father of Denny and Daisy came now an