Bernard Brooks' Adventures: The Experience of a Plucky Boy

“Don’t stone my kitty,” remonstrated Frank Fisk, the young boy.

“Stop your noise!” said Septimus roughly. “I shall stone her all I want to.”

As he spoke he threw another stone, which just grazed the kitten’s face and elicited a terrified cry.

“There, you bad boy, you hit my kitty.”

“Who calls me a bad boy?” demanded Septimus, with an ugly look on his face.

“I did, and you are one, or you wouldn’t throw stones at my kitten.”

“I’ll throw stones at you if you like it any better.”

“You wouldn’t dare to. I’d tell my father, and he’d – ”

“What would he do?”

“He’d stop you.”

“We’ll see if he will.”

Septimus took a strong cord from his pocket, and seizing the boy’s hands, prepared to tie them together in spite of his cries.

“What are you going to do?” asked Frank in a tone of apprehension.

“I am going to give you a lesson,” answered Septimus coolly.

Frank struggled to free himself, but Septimus was too strong for him.

Nat Barclay turned to Bernard.

“Shall we let him hurt little Frank?” he asked.

“Not much.”

As Bernard spoke he strode towards Septimus, who thus far had not observed him.

“Stop that, you young brute!” he said in an imperious tone. “Do you hear me?”

Septimus turned quickly, and his scowl became deeper when he saw who had spoken to him; for if there was any boy he hated it was Bernard, who had interfered with him more than once.

“Yes,” he said. “I hear and I won’t do it.”

“You won’t, eh?”

“No, I won’t, and you’d better be careful what you say or do, or I’ll tell pa, and then – ”

“And then what?”

“You’ll get a flogging.”

“That doesn’t frighten me much. Are you going to stop?”

“No, I’m not.” and Septimus gave an extra twist that made Frank cry out.

Bernard concluded that the time for remonstrance was past. He sprang forward, and seizing Septimus in his powerful grasp, tore him from his young victim.

“I’ll pay you up for this!” shrieked Septimus, as he flung himself upon Bernard.

Bernard laid him on his back in less than a minute.

“Do you want any more?” he asked, rather contemptuously.

Just at this moment the kitten saw a favorable opportunity to escape, and ran down the trunk of the tree. As she was running away Septimus caught sight of her, and his cruel instincts were aroused. He seized a rock and flung it at her. Had it struck the kitten she would have been seriously hurt.

Bernard was fond of pets, and his soul revolted at cruelty in any form.

“I see you can’t be trusted, Septimus,” he said composedly. “Nat, come here and help secure him.”

“What shall I do?” asked Nat.

“Hold his hands.”

Nat Barclay complied with his request, and Bernard taking the cord which Septimus had used on Frank, quickly and securely tied the hands of the young tyrant.

Septimus struggled and threatened, but without effect. In less than a minute he was securely bound.

“There,” said Bernard, “you are safe for a short time.”

“Untie my hands, or I’ll get my father to flog you!” screamed Septimus.

“Perhaps you’d better,” said Nat Barclay in a low voice. He was afraid his friend would get into trouble.

“No, I won’t. Septimus needs the lesson. You needn’t worry about me. Now we’ll go to the post-office.”

The two boys kept on their way, and Septimus, his hands tied, with wrath in his heart, started for home.

Mr. Snowdon was just coming out of the front door, when to his astonished gaze was revealed his son and heir walking towards the house, with his hands close together, like a prisoner in handcuffs.

“What does all this mean?” he asked in surprise. “What have you been tying your hands for?”

“I didn’t tie my hands,” said Septimus sullenly. “Do you think I am a fool?”

“Septimus, you should not speak to your father like this. If you did not tie your hands, who did?”

“Who did? That young loafer Bernard Brooks. I want you to flog him within an inch of his life.”

“Bernard Brooks tied your hands?”