But when I returned at leisure, having driven the young rogues to cover, I found him vigorously beating a small boy who had fallen in the panic flight and, finding himself left behind, had been too frightened to get up again.
Never have I seen a face of such triumphant malice as then appeared on that demure evangelist.

He beat the child as if he meant to kill it, muttering execrations all the while and looking round him furtively for fear lest other Muslims should appear in sight, in which case, I believe, he would at once have turned from blows to fondling.
'The wicked boy!' he cried, as I came up, 'to throw stones at a noble English gentleman.

He well deserfs to be deliffered ofer to the Bowers of Eurobe.' I bade him leave the child alone, or it would be the worse for him.
Aggrieved, and, in appearance, shocked at my unsympathetic tone, he left his prey, and I endeavoured to speak comfort to the victim; who, however, took no notice of my words, but ran hard for the village, howling lustily.
'The wicked boy! The wicked children!' the evangelist kept moaning, in hesitating and half-contrite tones.

'It is a bity that you let him go.
He will perhabs make trouble for us in the fillage.

But you are so brafe.