"There, there," she murmured, her voice very soft and sweet, "never
grieve so, Peregrine--you're no coward! When a coward runs away, he
keeps running in the same direction; a coward don't come back to be
beaten black and blue--see your poor face!"
"You laughed at it this morning!" said I, striving to steady my voice.
"Yes, I know I did, but only--only because!" she answered gently. "But
you ain't--I mean are not--a coward; you fought your best--"
"But to no purpose!" I added bitterly. "Nature has shaped me in such
puny mould, I'm so miserably weak--" Here the arm tightened and,
conscious thus of all the throbbing strength and vitality of her, I
felt my own weakness the more. "Oh, I'm a miserable, undersized rat!"
I groaned.
"Hush!" she whispered, as if I had shocked her. "'Tisn't size or
strength as wins a fight, Peregrine; 'tis quickness an' knowing
how--but most of all being game-plucked. The next time a man hits ye,
stand away and hit back; there's nothing will keep a man from hitting
you like hitting him often and hard."
"It seems that my uncles were right, after all!" said I. "Hard knocks
are sometimes more efficacious than the best-reasoned arguments. You
have seen many fights, I suppose, Diana?"
"Lots!"
"I wish you could teach me how it is done!"
"Why, so I will, Peregrine--stand up! Now," she admonished, as we
faced each other, "put up your hands--so!" Hereupon I imitated her
posture.
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