The next was Tom's lowered head and cumbrous body, as he charged like a
bull into Gard and both rolled to the ground, the table escaping
catastrophe by a hair's-breadth.

Mrs. Hamon had sprung up with clasped hands and piteous face. Nance and
Bernel had sprung up also, with distress in their faces but still more
of interest. They had come to a certain reliance on Gard's powers, and
how many and many a time had they longed to be able to give Tom a
well-deserved thrashing!

Through the open door of her room came Grannie's hard little voice, "Now
then! Now then! What are you about there?" but no one had time to tell
her.

Gard was up in a moment, panting hard, for Tom's bull-head had caught
him in the wind.

"If you want ... to fight ... come outside!" he jerked.

"---- you!" shouted Tom, as he struggled to his knees and then to his
feet. "I'll smash you!" and he lowered his head and made another blind
rush.

But this time Gard was ready for him, and a stout buffet on the ear as
he passed sent him crashing in a heap into the bowels of the clock,
which had witnessed no such doings since Tom's great-grandfather brought
it home and stood it in its place, and it testified to its amazement at
them by standing with hands uplifted at ten minutes to two until it was
repaired many months afterwards.