He was still perspiring.
"Now you go along at once--like a good boy!" said Pollyooly sharply.
His highness raised his disappearing head and saw the cold resolve in her deep-blue eyes.

He gave himself a little shake, stuck his spade into the sand, stretched his neck and went: but not like a good boy.
He stumbled down the castle wall with his teeth set very tight, and immediately on reaching level ground kicked the shins of his unprepared preceptor.

The baron, as was his wont, bent like a bow and held his little charge out at the length of his arms beyond the range of his shins, till his wrath should have abated.
Pollyooly's face filled with horror; she came springing lightly down the castle wall; cried: "Don't do that, you naughty little boy!" and caught the prince a resounding slap on the cheek.
The pent-up feelings of the prince escaped in a loud yell.

He loosed his preceptor and pressed a hand to his stinging cheek.
It was too much for the baron.

He tore his hat from his head, flung it to earth, ground it into the earth with his heel, and flung his arms to heaven in one frenzied movement: "Ach Gott!" he cried to the unregarding sky.