bob saw that it would be useless to crave further for mercy, and he remained sulky and silent; but jim looked in vain to see him blubber. no; in everything except age bob was an orthodox villain; and an orthodox villain never whimpers when his schemes topple about his ears. on account of his youth and inexperience, he had not provided himself with poison in the event of failure—nay, he did not even attempt to roll off the raft into the river.

“this is rather a home-made rabbit-house, eh, will?” marmaduke observed, inclining his head towards the cage.

“it’s kindy weak,” jim chimed in. “it looks strong enough to hold me, but it keeps cracking every minute.”

“hush!” breathed will.

he had many fine qualities. even at his early age, he could respect the feelings of a fallen foe.

“hello there, steve,” he said, as they drew near the group of three. “i killed tip, but i’ve saved carlo, so my mind is easy.”

the three returned will’s grin of pleasure with a shout of applause. so eager were they to welcome the victors that they tore off their boots and stockings, rolled their pants nearly up to their knees, and waded out till the water was two or three inches above their knees. youth manifests its enthusiasm very recklessly at times.

at this moment will experienced some of the triumph of a conquering hero.

“now, bob,” charles began, as they floated the raft into its harbor; “now, bob, you will be tried by us for your misdoings.”

“he has surely had punishment enough; let him go;” said tender-hearted george, sitting down on the bank and looking pityingly at the wild-eyed captive.

“yes, steve; let him go; for how on earth can we punish him?” will supplemented.

[246]

“no!” charles said resolutely. “the boy who can float another boy’s dog over these falls is a scoundrel, and—”

“i never did!” bob here put in.

“and,” continued charles, “he ought to be court-martialed!”

bob did not know what this meant; neither did charles; the former looked awe-struck, the latter, wise and august.

steve, however, added promptly: “of course. his father must have court-plastered him the other night for his bruises; and now we must court-martial him for his wickedness.”

“well,” said marmaduke, seating himself with great composure, “i am going to be neutral.”

poor boy, he thought “neutral” had an imposing look in his history, and he would seize this opportunity to illustrate its beauties.

with that, the entire six sat down in a circle around the raft. charles and stephen were resolved on punishment. jim also. for some reason, george and will were in favor of pardon.

“well, boys,” said will, “of course you can do what you like, but i believe i should let him go—box, and rope, and straps, and all. i perished poor tip, but i’ve rescued carlo, and i’m satisfied.”

no doubt will thought this a very genteel expression. not so marmaduke: he sprang to his feet with a gesture of surprise, and said earnestly, “oh, will! perish is a neuter verb!”

will flushed, and moved uneasily from right to left.

“what is all this nonsense about neuters and neutrals?” steve asked, angrily. “what do we care about your neuters? botheration, you boys have put off this trial long enough. but,” with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, “tell us what a neuter verb is; and then, i hope, we may go on.”

marmaduke was ill prepared for such a question, and he was never prompt in giving explanations. his face blanched, he sank dejectedly to the ground, took off his[247] hat and toyed with it nervously; took out his handkerchief and feebly tried to blow his nose; looked appealingly at the sage; and at last began, hesitatingly: “well, hem, steve, stephen, i’m afraid i can hardly make it clear to you, because—because—well, you know, stephen, you don’t understand grammar very well. well, perish—but,” brightening and rising, “i’ll just illustrate it for you. now, you see, i’m standing up. well,” suiting the action to the word, “i sit down when i go to the ground; but,” suiting the action to the word, “i set down my hat—or you, or any other boy, or a thing, or a word in a book.”

marmaduke put on his hat and picked up and pocketed his handkerchief with the air of a man who has triumphed.

“yes,” steve admitted, “you make it pretty plain, marmaduke; but these neuter verbs, and conjunctions, and things, were always a muddle to me. but,” guilelessly, “tell me this, and then we must attend to bob: is it right to say, i sit myself down, or i set myself down?”

poor marmaduke! he was struck dumb; he had a new view of neuter verbs. a look of woe that would have melted a heart of stone passed over his face. he arose and took a seat where steve could not see him, muttering confusedly: “a neuter verb can’t do anything, but active verbs do.”

stephen chuckled: “i always knew those rules in the grammar wouldn’t work both ways.”

charles and will did not seem inclined to help marmaduke out of his difficulty—probably they were as much puzzled as he. as for george, he was not at all disconcerted: when he understood a thing, he knew that he understood it. he looked on with supreme indifference, not thinking it worth while to give his views.

“see how bob behaved himself the night of the experiment,” charles observed, coming back to the matter in hand. “he will always be trying to do us some harm if we let him off this time.”

“yes,” chimed in steve, glancing at the helpless captive, who was still on the raft, “we let him go that night and see how he has rewarded us for our mercy!”

[248]

“you wouldn’t have let him escape if it hadn’t been for me;” will corrected.

“we didn’t hunt him down the next day, as we might have done!” steve rejoined, as though that settled the question.

“i hope we are hardly such a set of cold-blooded fellows as that!” george said. “and besides what great harm did he do that night?”

“oh, you, george andrews!” stephen retorted wrathfully. “i suppose you think we’re harping on your performances that night, but we’re not.”

“you had better not, stephen goodfellow!” said george also becoming wrathful. “you promised that you wouldn’t speak of that to me again.”

it is a lamentable fact, hinted at in the outset of this history, that these heroes quarreled occasionally. when one of these differences took place, each one had the strange, boyish habit of calling the other by his christian name and surname. if you doubt this, fair reader, [she for whom this is written will understand,] be so good as to play the eavesdropper on two small and quarrelsome juveniles disputing about the color of an absent playmate’s marble.

“i’m not; i’m keeping my word;” steve replied seriously. “but perhaps your mind is running on clemency, that bothered you so much the other day.”

“perhaps yours is running on the term ‘lynch law!’”

at this juncture neutral marmaduke, who was beginning to recover his equanimity, and who doubtless felt spiteful towards stephen, hopped up and declared, in the tone of a dictator rather than of a peacemaker: “gentlemen, the jury have disagreed; the case is dismissed.”

“marmaduke fitzwilliams,” cried charles, rising in his turn, “four or five boys don’t make a jury; you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“lawyers would say, constitute a jury,” marmaduke corrected.

“well, let ’em say it; we are not lawyers;” charles roared.

“it would not be acting politically to punish him[249] ourselves,” the neutral one contended. “there is a whole court-house full of men in the village, that make it a business to punish people.”

poor marmaduke! he seemed to have a preternatural longing to figure in the courts of justice.

“marmaduke,” george said musingly, “don’t you suppose you are out of your reckoning when you say ‘acting politically’?”

“yes, what does ‘politically’ mean, any way?” stephen inquired, thinking to ensnare the boy once more.

this time, however, marmaduke answered without hesitation. “why,” said he, “it’s an adverb, and adverbs always mean, in a manner—politically, in a political manner.”

steve did not seem much enlightened, and charles with a merry twinkle, asked, “always?”

“always!” firmly.

“oh, then, politically ought to mean, in the manner of a policeman; abed, in the manner of a bedstead; and so on.”

marmaduke looked aghast, and charles the persecutor continued mercilessly: “alongside, in the manner of a man who wears a long side.”

the neutral one was now quite discomfited, and he arose and stole back to his seat, trying to collect himself and make out what “in a manner” really signifies.

but steve yelled after him: “and to go means in the manner of a goner.”

at this dreadful outrage it is a wonder that words did not take to themselves a voice to howl in the offender’s ear: “we cannot all be adverbs!”

as for marmaduke he was utterly demoralized.

“whatever you do, boys, don’t leave bob to stiffen in his coils on that raft,” will meekly suggested.

charles and stephen were so eager to have some one side with them that they took it for granted that will, for very weariness, was now in favor of punishment; and stephen, on the spur of the moment, made this startling observation:

[250]

“why not do with bob as he did with my dog? he has got himself all in a jumble on the raft—let us give him a ride up and down the river. it will be good for his constitution.”

strangely enough, this idea was favorably received by the boys. they laughed, and applauded stephen.

“it would be a very light punishment,” he continued, pressing home his advantage. “don’t you all agree to it? come, will, what is your opinion?”

“it was you bob was molesting, steve, and you must stir up your conscience to see what it says, and then go ahead,” will answered. “you put it very mildly, but i suppose your meaning is, to cram bob into carlo’s prison, untangle the rope, and then float him around as he floated carlo around.”

“y-e-s,” steve assented, somewhat discomposed at this plain statement of his views.

“i’m tired of all this,” george exclaimed, with a sigh. “fire ahead, steve, and do whatever you like.”

“hurrah, then,” charlie cried gladly, “let us give bob an airing.”

at this instant marmaduke again appeared before the boys, and opened his mouth to make some sage remark; but stephen,—now all animation,—in tones whose cheerfulness took away the harshness of the words, silenced him, saying: “stop your noise, marmaduke. you’re a neuter verb, you know; and they mustn’t do anything.”

“perhaps you ought to consult bob himself,” will suggested. “he might observe some valuable observations about his punishment.”

“let the prisoner speak,” chimed in the irrepressible neutral one.

“well, bob,” said charles languidly, “moisten your lips and tongue, and let us have your views. in the first place, what was your plot? what did you intend to do with carlo?”

bob scowled at the speaker and was silent. but finally, having thought bettor of it, he did as directed, and said, “i was only going to fool you fellers; i never meant to do more’n scare him,” looking at stephen, “and[251] then i was going to let his dog go. but,” sorrowfully, “you came along and spoilt it all.”

“suppose carlo had gone at your heels when you let him out of the box?” charles asked.

bob turned pale and muttered something in confusion.

“well, what do you say about our turning the tables on you?” george asked.

“nothin’,” the prisoner answered stoically, still playing the part of an orthodox villain. no; he, a boy of nearly seventeen years, would not again beg for mercy at the hands of his inferiors—in age; and he awaited his punishment with well-feigned indifference.

if the boys had been better versed in human nature, they would have known that this passive submission on his part boded evil to their future welfare.

although bob was acting like an orthodox villain, the six, in taking upon themselves to judge and punish him, were not acting like orthodox heroes. by no means. they were not the irreproachable youngsters who figure in octodecimo volumes. they all had an idea of the fitness of things; and all—even george and will—thought it just and right that bob should know, by actual experience, what carlo’s feelings had been during his imprisonment.