The boys heard summoning voices, and beheld Mr.Morton of Poer Hall and Austin Wentworth stepping towards them.
A truce was sounded, jackets were caught up, guns shouldered, and off they trotted in concert through the depths of the wood, not stopping till that and half-a-dozen fields and a larch plantation were well behind them.
When they halted to take breath, there was a mutual study of faces.
Ripton's was much discoloured, and looked fiercer with its natural war-paint than the boy felt.

Nevertheless, he squared up dauntlessly on the new ground, and Richard, whose wrath was appeased, could not refrain from asking him whether he had not really had enough.
"Never!" shouts the noble enemy.
"Well, look here," said Richard, appealing to common sense, "I'm tired of knocking you down.

I'll say you're not a fool, if you'll give me your hand." Ripton demurred an instant to consult with honour, who bade him catch at his chance.
He held out his hand.

"There!" and the boys grasped hands and were fast friends.

Ripton had gained his point, and Richard decidedly had the best of it.