At the end we all three solemnly shook hands, and Charlie was left to write and despatch brief notes of summons to our more distant school-mates, whilst Jem and I tucked up our trousers, wound our comforters sternly round our throats, and went forth in different directions to gather the rest.
(Having lately been reading about the Highlanders, who used to send round a fiery cross when the clans were called to battle, I should have liked to do so in this instance; but as some of the Academy boys were no greater readers than Jem, they might not have known what it meant, so we abandoned the notion.) There was not an Academy boy worth speaking of who was in time for dinner the following day; and several of them brought brothers or cousins to the fray.

By half-past twelve we had crept down the field that was on the other side of our wall, and had hidden ourselves in various corners of a cattle-shed, where a big cart and some sail-cloth and a turnip heap provided us with ambush.

By and by certain familiar whoops and hullohs announced that the enemy was coming.

One or two bigger boys made for the dam (which I confess was a relief to us), but our own particular foes advanced with a rush upon the wall.
"They hevn't coomed yet, hev they ?" we heard the sexton's son say, as he peeped over at our pond.
"Noa," was the reply.

"It's not gone one yet." "It's gone one by t' church.