it was crowded, looked much more like a porcupine carrying a sign-post; and, at the roots of those lances, many little round o's, whereby was signified the heads of Amyas and his schoolfellows who were about to slay that dragon, and rescue the beautiful princess who dwelt in that enchanted tower. To behold which marvel of art, all the other boys at the same desk must needs club theiir heads together, and with the more security, because Sir Vindex, as was his custom after dinner, was lying back in his chair, and slept the sleep of the just.
But when Amyas, by special instigation of the evil spirit who haunts successful artists, proceeded further to introduce, heedless of perspective, a rock, on which stood the lively portraiture of Sir Vindex—nose, spectacles, gown, and all; and in his hand a brandished rod, while out of his mouth a label shrieked after the runaways, "You come back!" while a similar label replied from the gallant bark, "Good-bye, master!" the shoving and tittering rose to such a pitch, that Cerberus awoke, and demanded sternly what the noise was about. To which, of course, there was no answer.
"You, of course, Leigh! Come up, sir, and show me your exercitation."
Now of Amyas's exercitation not a word was written; and, moreover, he was in the very act of putting the last touches to Mr. Brimblecombe's portrait. Whereon, to the astonishment of all hearers, he made answer—
"All in good time, sir!" and went on drawing.
"In good time, sir! Insolent, veni et vapula!"
Amyas went on drawing.
"Come hither, sirrah, or I'll flay you alive!"
"Wait a bit!" answered Amyas.
The old gentleman jumped up, ferule in hand, and darted across the school, and saw himself upon the fatal slate.
"Proh flagitium! what have we here, villain?" and clutching at his victim he raised the cane. Whereupon, with a serene and cheerful countenance, up rose the mighty form of Amyas Leigh, a head and shoulders above his tormentor, and that slate descended on the bald coxcomb of Sir Vindex Brimblecombe, with so shrewd a blow, that slate and pate cracked at the same instant, and the poor pedagogue dropped to the floor, and lay for dead.
After which Amyas arose, and walked out of the school, and so quietly home; and having taken counsel with himself, went to his mother, and said, "Please, mother, I've broken schoolmaster's head."
"Broken his head, thou wicked boy!" shrieked the poor widow; "what did'st do that for?"
"I can't tell," said Amyas penitently; "I couldn't help it. It looked so smooth, and bald, and round, and—you know?"
"I know? Oh, wicked boy! thou hast given place to the devil; and now, perhaps, thou hast killed him."
"Killed the devil?" asked Amyas, hopefully but doubtfully.
"No, killed the schoolmaster, sirrah! Is he dead?"
