“He is over in Carver’s field.”

“Is anyone with him?”

“Yes, Wilkins.”

“Ha!  Wilkins and I will have an account to settle.  If he is going to side with this young rascal he must take the consequences.  So, he’s over in the field, is he?  What’s he doing?”

“I think he was going to walk down to the brook.”

Carver’s field was a tract, several acres in extent, of pasture land, sloping down to one corner, where a brook trickled along quietly.  Here three large trees were located, under whose spreading branches the boys, in the intervals of study, used often to stretch themselves for a chat or engage in some schoolboy games, such as nimble peg or quoits.  The owner of the field was an easy-going man, who did not appear to be troubled by the visits of the boys, as long as they did not maltreat the peaceful cows who gathered their subsistence from the scanty grass that grew there.

“He wants to keep out of your way, I guess,” volunteered Bates.

As this suggestion was flattering to the pride of the “boss,” it was graciously received.

“Very likely,” he said; “but he’ll find that isn’t so easy.  Boys, follow me, if you want to see some fun.”

Jim started with his loose stride for the field, where he expected to meet his adversary, or, rather, victim, for so he considered him, and the smaller boys followed him with alacrity.  There was going to be a scrimmage, and they all wanted to see it.

Jim and his followers issued from the gate, and, crossing the street, scaled the bars that separated Carver’s field from the highway.  Already they could see the two boys—­Roscoe and Wilkins-slowly walking, and nearly arrived at the brook in the lower part of the field.

“He doesn’t seem much afraid,” remarked Talbot, one of the recent comers, incautiously.

Upon him immediately Jim frowned ominously.

“So you are taking sides with him, Talbot, are you?” he said, imperiously.

“No, Jim,” answered Talbot, hurriedly, for he now saw that he had been guilty of an imprudence.

“What made you say he wasn’t scared, then?”

“I only said he didn’t seem afraid,” answered Talbot, apologetically.

“Be careful what you say in future, young fellow!” said Jim, sternly; “that is, if you are a friend of mine.  If you are going over to Roscoe, you can go, and I shall know how to treat you.”

“But I am not going over to him.  I don’t like him,” said the cowardly boy.

“Very well; I accept your apology this time.  In future be careful what you say.”

By this time Wilkins and Roscoe had reached the clump of big trees, and had seated themselves under their ample branches.  Then, for the first time, glancing backward toward the school, they became aware of the advancing troop of boys.  Wilkins saw them first.

“There’s Jim coming!” he exclaimed.  “Now you are in a pickle.  He means business.”