Anthony pulled obediently towards the shore.
“And what’s to become of me, I should like to know?” he complained. “I refuse to be the unwanted third. Is that the children I see in the distance?”
“Yes. Be careful, or they’ll rope you in.”
“I’m rather fond of children,” said Anthony. “I might teach them some nice quiet intellectual game.”
“Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Having relinquished Bundle to the care of her gallant captain, Anthony strolled off to where various shrill cries disturbed the peace of the afternoon. He was received with acclamation.
“Are you any good at playing Red Indians?” asked Guggle sternly.
“Rather,” said Anthony. “You should hear the noise I make when I’m being scalped. Like this.” He illustrated.
“Not so bad,” said Winkle grudgingly. “Now do the scalper’s yell.”
Anthony obliged with a bloodcurdling noise. In another minute the game of Red Indians was in full swing.
About an hour later, Anthony wiped his forehead, and ventured to inquire after Mademoiselle’s migraine. He was pleased to hear that that lady had entirely recovered. So popular had he become that he was urgently invited to come and have tea in the schoolroom.
“And then you can tell us about the man you saw hung,” urged Guggle.
“Did you say you’d got a bit of the rope with you?” asked Winkle.