The wind blowing out Madge's brown hair as she ran, I suppose put him
in mind of what to do. For all at once, clapping his hand to his
mouth, and imitating the bellowing war-whoop of an Indian, he rushed
upon us in that character, caught hold of Madge's hair, and made off
as if to drag her away by it. She, screaming, tried to resist, but of
course could not get into an attitude for doing so while he pulled her
so fast. The end of it was, that she lost her balance and fell, thus
tearing her hair from his grasp.

I, being some distance away, picked up an apple and flung it at the
persecutor's head, which I missed by half an inch. Before I could
follow the apple, Philip had taken the work out of my hands.

"You are a savage," said Phil, in a low voice, but with a fiery eye,
confronting Ned at close quarters.

"And what are you?" replied young Faringfield promptly. "You're a
beggar, that's what you are! A beggar that my father took in."

For a moment or two Phil regarded his insulter in amazed silence; then
answered:

"If only you weren't her brother!"

Here Madge spoke up, from the ground on which she sat:

"Oh, don't let that stop you, Phil!"

"I sha'n't," said Phil, with sudden decision, and the next instant the
astounded Ned was recoiling from a solid blow between the eyes.