Page:Comin' Thro' the Rye (1898).djvu/178

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170
COMIN' THRO' THE RYE.

with another. "You are afraid! you ate enough supper for six.—Jack;" to which I make answer, "I ain't! I didn't! Come on!" I then prepare for the conflict. I take off my dress and upper petticoats and shoes, put on my nightgown, tuck the sleeves well up over my arms; then, selecting my strongest and stoutest pillow, I sling it over my back and sally forth. The dimly lit passage is empty, but I creep warily along, keeping a keen eye to right and left, for behind yonder chest the foe may lurk, or from out yonder half-shut door he may suddenly spring; and if I am not prepared with my weapon, whack! upon my defenceless head will come a blow, heavy in proportion to the skill of the hand that aims it. Gingerly then I go, breathless with expectation, every nerve strung to its highest pitch, but the foe does not appear, and I am just wondering whether he is lazy or meditating a dishonourable attack from the rear, when, whirr! from the oriel window comes a swift well-directed blow that would smite me to earth did I not catch it midway with my pillow, which meets the other in a sound crack that reverberates through the house. Now the engagement is opened, the exchange of compliments is brisk, and ducking, dodging, slashing, backing, retreating, advancing, we have a hand-to-hand encounter, until Amberley appears at the top of the stairs candlestick in hand, meek, scandalized, open-mouthed. Down the corridor I flee, Jack in hot pursuit, showering liberal blows on my vanishing tail; past Amberley, who, being in the line of battle, receives a blow intended for my worthless back, which smites the candlestick from her hand and flattens her, a heap of ruins, against the wall; down the stairs like a flash of lightning; through the nurseries like a clap of thunder, where nurse cries "Shame!" and the youngsters, "Go it!" out on the other side, down the lower staircase, across the hall into the dining-room. . . . but where is Jack? He was at my heels a moment ago; now he is neither to be heard nor seen. . . . Is he listening at the door, or creeping up