“Well, I may as well have a look round,” decided the boy; “only mind⁠—no tricks! If you rat-hunt with him when I ain’t there, ’twill be threepence whatsoever.”

She indicated assent to this also.

Lob began to swagger slowly away.

“I knows why you wants me to shog off,” he called back; and he added an outrageous expression in shrewd Dorset dialect which had the effect of bringing an angry flush to Gerda’s cheeks.

“Be off, you rogue,” cried Wolf, “or you’ll get more than you’ve bargained for!”

But there came flying through the air, from the child’s impudent hand, a well-aimed puffball, which burst as it touched Gerda’s knee, covering her dress with a thin, powdery brown dust.