When, instead of any other answer, the boys entered into Jan Mulder's jest, shouting gaily: "Yes, play blind-man's buff! Look for the hat-fuller.

Come, little Glipper, begin." Nicolas could contain himself no longer, but shouted furiously to the laughing throng: "Cowardly rabble!" Scarcely had the words been uttered, when Paul Van Swieten raised his grammar, bound in hog-skin, and hurled it at Wibisma's breast.
Other books followed, amid loud outcries, striking him on the legs and shoulders.

Bewildered, he shielded his face with his hands and retreated to the church-yard wall, where he stood still and prepared to rush upon his foes.
The stiff, fashionable high Spanish ruff no longer confined his handsome head with its floating golden locks.

Freely and boldly he looked his enemies in the face, stretched the young limbs hardened by many a knightly exercise, and with a true Netherland oath sprang upon Adrian Van der Werff, who stood nearest.
After a short struggle, the burgomaster's son, inferior in strength and age to his opponent, lay extended on the ground; but the other lads, who had not ceased shouting, "Glipper, Glipper," seized the young noble, who was kneeling on his vanquished foe.
Nicolas struggled bravely, but his enemies' superior power was too great.
Frantic with fury, wild with rage and shame, he snatched the dagger from his belt.
The boys now raised a frightful yell, and two of them rushed upon Nicolas to wrest the weapon from him.

This was quickly accomplished; the dagger flew on the pavement, but Van Swieten sprang back with a low cry, for the sharp blade had struck his arm, and the bright blood streamed on the ground.
For several minutes the shouts of the lads and the piteous cries of the black page drowned the beautiful melody of the organ, pouring from the windows of the church.