news for you.'

Not unwilling to hear him, I took his hand, leaving my companion, the
miller's little girl, Mabel Sweetwinter, at a toy-stand, while Bob, her
brother and our guardian, was shying sticks in a fine attitude. 'Yes,
and your father, too,' said the young man; 'come along and see him; you
can run?' I showed him how fast. We were pursued by Bob, who fought for
me, and won me, and my allegiance instantly returned to him. He carried
me almost the whole of the way back to Dipwell. Women must feel for the
lucky heroes who win them, something of what I felt for mine; I kissed
his bloody face, refusing to let him wipe it. John Thresher said to me
at night, 'Ay, now you've got a notion of boxing; and will you believe
it, Master Harry, there's people fools enough to want to tread that ther'
first-rate pastime under foot? I speak truth, and my word for 't, they'd
better go in petticoats. Let clergymen preach as in duty bound; you and
I'll uphold a manful sport, we will, and a cheer for Bob!'

He assured me, and he had my entire faith, that boxing was England's
natural protection from the foe. The comfort of having one like Bob to
defend our country from invasion struck me as inexpressible. Lighted by
John Thresher's burning patriotism, I entered the book of the History of
England at about the pace of a carthorse, with a huge waggon at my heels
in the shape of John. There was no moving on until he was filled. His
process of receiving historical knowledge was to fight over again the
personages who did injury to our honour as a nation, then shake hands and
be proud of them. 'For where we ain't quite successful we're cunning,'
he said; 'and we not being able to get rid of William the Conqueror,
because he's got a will of his own and he won't budge, why, we takes
and makes him one of ourselves; and no disgrace in that, I should hope!
He paid us a compliment, don't you see, Master Harry? he wanted to be an