gooseberry-bushes?"
"Yes; I know that taters is dug out of the hearth. I'm pretty fly for ayoung un."
"Can you ride?"
"No."
"Well, meet me here to-morrow at the same time, and I'll bring my`Duck.'"
"Look 'ere, Johnnie Raw, ye said `_ride_,' not `_swim_.' A duck teachesswimmin', not ridin'. None o' yer larks now!"
Next day Archie swept down upon the Cockney in fine form, meaning toimpress him.
The Cockney was not much impressed; I fear he was not veryimpressionable.
"My heye, Johnnie Raw," he roared, "vere did yer steal the moke?"
"Look you here, young Whitechapel, you'll have to guard that tongue ofyours a little, else communications will be cut. Do you see?"
"It _is_ a donkey, ain't it, Johnnie?"
"Come on to the field and have a ride."
Five minutes afterwards the young Cockney on the "Eider Duck's" back wastearing along the field at railway speed. John Gilpin's ride wasnothing to it, nor Tam O'Shanter's on his grey mare, Meg! Both theseworthies had stuck to the saddle, but this horseman rode upon the neckof the steed. Scallowa stopped short at the gate, but the boy flewover.
Archie found his friend rubbing himself, and looking very serious, andhe felt happier now.
"Call that 'ere donkey a heider duck? H'm? I allers thought heiderducks was soft!
"One to you, Johnnie. I don't want to ride hany more."
"What else shall I teach you?"
"Hey?"
"Come, I'll show you over the farm."
"Honour bright? No larks!"
"Yes; no larks!"
"Say honour."
"Honour."
Young Whitechapel had not very much faith in his guide, however; but hesaw more country wonders that day than ever he could have dreamt of;while his strange remarks kept Archie continually laughing.
Next day the two boys went bird-nesting, and really Archie was verymischievous. He showed him a hoody-crow's nest, which he represented asa green plover's or lapwing's; and a blackbird's nest in a furze-bush,which he told Harry was a magpie's; and so on, and so forth, till atlast he got tired of the cheeky Cockney, and sent him off on a mile walkto a cairn of stones, on which he told him crows sometimes sat and"might have a nest."
Then Archie threw himself on the moss, took out a book, and began toread. He was just beginning to repent of his conduct to Harry Brown,and meant to go up to him like a man when he returned, and crave hisforgiveness.
But somehow, when Harry came back he had so long a face, that wickedArchie burst out laughing, and forgot all about his good resolve.
"What shall I teach you next?" said Archie.
"Draw it mild, Johnnie; it's 'Arry's turn. It's the boy's turn to teachyou summut. Shall we 'ave it hout now wi' the raw uns? Bunches o'fives I means. Hey?"
"I really don't understand you."
"Ha! ha! ha! I knowed yer was a green 'un, Johnnie. Can yer fight?Hey? 'Cause I'm spoilin' for a row."
And Harry Brown threw off his jacket, and began to dance about interribly knowing attitudes.
"You had better put on your clothes again," said Archie. "Fight _you_?Why I could fling you over the fishpond."
"Ah! I dessay; but flingin' ain't fightin', Johnnie. Come, there's nogetting hout of it. It ain't the first young haristocrat I'vefrightened; an' now you're afraid."
That was enough for Archie. And the next moment the lads were at it.
But Archie had met his match; he went down a dozen times. He remaineddown the last time.
"It is wonderful," he said. "I quite admire you. But I've had enough;I'm beaten."
"Spoken like a plucked 'un. Haven't swallowed yer teeth, hey?"
"No; but I'll have a horrid black-eye."
"Raw beef, my boy; raw beef."
"Well; I confess I've caught a tartar."
"An' I caught a crab yesterday. Wot about your eider duck? My heye!Johnnie, I ain't been able to sit down conweniently since. I say,Johnnie?"
"Well."
"Friends, hey?"
"All right."
Then the two shook hands, and young Whitechapel said if Archie would buytwo pairs of gloves he would show him how it was done. So Archie did,and became an apt pupil in the noble art of self-defence; which may beused at times, but never abused.
However, Archie Broadbent never forgot that lesson in the wood.
CHAPTER SIX.
"JOHNNIE'S GOT THE GRIT IN HIM."
On the day of his fight with young Harry in the wood, Archie returnedhome to find both his father and Mr Walton in the drawing-room alone.His father caught the lad by the arm. "Been tumbling again off thatpony of yours?"
"No, father, worse. I'm sure I've done wrong." He then told them allabout the practical joking, and the _finale_.
"Well," said the Squire, "there is only one verdict. What do you say,Walton?"
"Serve him right!"
"Oh, I know that," said Archie; "but isn't it lowering our name to keepsuch company?"
"It isn't raising our name, nor growing fresh laurels either, for you toplay practical jokes on this poor London lad. But as to being in hiscompany, Archie, you may have to be in worse yet. But listen! I wantmy son to behave as a gentleman, even in low company. Remember thatboy, and despise no one, whatever be his rank in life. Now, go and begyour mother's and sister's forgiveness for having to appear before themwith a black-eye."
"Archie!" his father called after him, as he was leaving the room.
"Yes, dad?"
"How long do you think it will be before you get into another scrape?"
"I couldn't say for certain, father. I'm sure I don't want to get intoany. They just seem to come."
"There's no doubt about one thing, Mr Broadbent," said the tutorsmiling, when Archie had left.
"And that is?"
"He's what everybody says he is, a chip of the old block. Headstrong,and all that; doesn't look before he leaps."
"Don't _I_, Walton?"
"Squire, I'm not going to flatter you. You know you don't."
"Well, my worthy secretary," said the Squire, "I'm glad you speak soplainly. I can always come to you for advice when--"
"When you want to," said Walton, laughing. "All right, mind you do.I'm proud to be your factor, as well as tutor to your boys. Now whatabout that Chillingham bull? You won't turn him into the west field?"
"Why not? The field is well fenced. All our picturesque beasts arethere. He is only a show animal, and he is really only a baby."
"True, the bull is not much more than a baby, but--"
The baby in question was the gift of a noble friend to Squire Broadbent;and so beautiful and picturesque did he consider him, that he would havepermitted him to roam about the lawns, if there did not exist theconsiderable probability that he would play battledore and shuttlecockwith the visitors, and perhaps toss old Kate herself over the gardenwall.
So he was relegated to the west field. This really was a park to allappearance. A few pet cattle grazed in it, a flock of sheep, and alittle herd of deer. They all lived amicably together, and soughtshelter under the same spreading trees from the summer's sun. Thecattle were often changed, so were the sheep, but the deer were as muchfixtures as the trees themselves.
The changing of sheep or cattle meant fine fun for Archie. He would bethere in all his glory, doing the work that was properly that ofherdsmen and collie dogs. There really was not a great deal of need forcollies when Archie was there, mounted on his wild Shetland pony, hisdarling "Eider Duck" Scallowa; and it was admittedly a fine sight to seethe pair of them--they seemed made for each other--feathering awayacross the field, heading and turning the drove. At such times he wouldbe armed with a long whip, and occasionally a beast more rampageous thanthe rest would separate itself from the herd, and, with tail erect andhead down, dash madly over the grass. This would be just the test forArchie's skill that he longed for. Away he would go at a gloriousgallop;
sometimes riding neck and neck with the runaway and plying thewhip, at other times getting round and well ahead across the beast'sbows with shout and yell, but taking care to manoeuvre so as to steerclear of an ugly rush.
In this field always dwelt one particular sheep. It had, like the pony,been a birthday present, and, like the pony, it hailed from the _UltimaThule_ of the British North. If