The result was the same; our caps were captured! Then did Jimmy Bates, and Joe Bobbins, and Harry Rasper, and I, meet one day, and declare to one another, that this sort of thing was not to be stood.
"Let's tell Mother Wren," said one.
"Or the policeman," said another.
"Let's write and tell Fred Batchelor's uncle," said another.

That referred to my relative, who was always counted a "nob" in the village.
"I say, don't do any," said the redoubtable Bobbins.

"The next time they do it to me _I_ mean to kick!" The sentiment was loudly applauded, and a regular council of war was held, with the following decision.

We four were to go home together that afternoon, and without waiting to be chased, would ourselves give chase to the first bully we saw, and take _his_ cap! The consequences of course might be fearful--fatal; but the blood of the "Jenny Wrenites" was up.

Do it we would, or perish in the attempt.
I think we all got a little nervous as the afternoon school wore on and the hour for departing approached.