The others walked on for a few paces in silence. All felt somewhat ashamed of their subservience to the village bully, and each was too proud to say so, or to become bolder immediately upon his departure. Indeed, they would not have called Ralph a "bully," for to them the word meant only one who fought and thrashed smaller boys, and Ralph was neither quarrelsome nor pugilistic. Yet he was a bully, for he took for himself liberties which he denied to others, and did so by force. He did not fight, it is true: but that was merely because the boys were of a higher grade than those whose fists are their sole arbiters of right and wrong.
Now, Ralph went home entirely unconscious of the impression his conduct had made upon his comrades, and no doubt would have said that they had enjoyed the afternoon quite as much as he had. But not long after his swaying figure was concealed by a turn in the road, young Plunkett said to the rest:
"Fellows, why did n't you stand by me? I had just as much right to fix his shirt as he had to cluck me, had n't I?"
"Well, I said so," replied Tom Cromwell, but in a half-hearted way.
"Oh, yes! You said so," answered little Plunkett, "but a lot of good that did me! I had to untie the knots, all the same."
"Well, what do you want me to do?" asked Tom, a little sulkily, for he was far from being thoroughly pleased with his own conduct. "Do you want me to pound him over the head, and then to get licked by him? You know he can do it, and there's no use saying he can't. What good would it do you for me to get rolled in the mud? I 'll do it, if you say it's the correct style," added Tom, dryly; "but first I'd like to see the good of it all."
Young Plunkett was one of those big-headed boys who are born to make plans. It was not the first time he had considered the problem of Ralph McGregor, and he had a general idea of what
