"Face hurt much?"

Pete gave a duck with his head which was meant for an assent, and
continued splashing.

"So does mine," said Tom suddenly, "and I ache all over."

There was another pause.

"I say!"

Pete held his head still, but did not turn round, keeping his face
within a few inches of the water.

"It was all your fault: I didn't want to fight."

Pete began splashing again.

"I'm going home now; I shall come and see how the dog is to-morrow."

The only sign made by Pete was to take his left hand from his pocket,
and hold it as far behind him as he could reach, with something held
between his finger and thumb.

Tom stared, for it was the sixpence he had given him before the fight.

"I don't want it," said Tom; and he turned away, plunged in among the
fir-trees, and as soon as he was in shelter looked back, to see that
Pete was still bending over the water and holding the coin out behind
him.

"Oh, I do wish it was dark," thought Tom, "so that I could get in
without being seen. It'll be weeks before my face is quite well again.
And I wanted to be friendly too. All my blackberries and mushrooms
gone. Oh, how my head aches; just as if I'd been knocking it against a
wall."

By this time he had reached the far edge of the pine-wood, and stepped
down into the lane, to begin walking fast with his head hanging, and a
feeling of depression and misery making him long for the peace of his
own little room.

But still his brain kept on actively at work, forming little pictures of
the events of the afternoon, while his thoughts in his mental musings
took the form of short, terse sentences.

"I hate fighting.--That's making friends with him.--He'll always hate me
now.--Mr Maxted's all wrong.--But Pete does love his dog.--How queer
about that sixpence."

"Good-afternoon, Tom."

The boy stopped short with his heart beating, to find Mr Maxted seated
upon a stump in the side of the fir-wood, evidently enjoying the
glorious sunset tints spreading from the horizon nearly to the zenith.

"I--I didn't see you, sir," faltered Tom.

"Of course you did not, or you wouldn't have gone by. What a lovely
sunset! Why, my good lad, whatever have you been doing?"

The Vicar rose from his seat and came forward, giving the boy a startled
look.

"Your face is horribly bruised, and--did you fall from some tree? My
dear lad, it's terrible--just as if you had been fighting."

"I have," said Tom bluntly, as he stood wi