"Very well! I don't like your idea of fun. Perhaps you won't like mine,"
said Phil, as he forcibly drew Jonas back till he lay upon the snow, and
then kneeling by his side, rubbed his face briskly with snow.

"What are you doin'? Goin' to murder me?" shrieked Jonas, in anger and
dismay.

"I am going to wash your face," said Phil, continuing the operation
vigorously.

"I say, you quit that! I'll tell my mother," ejaculated Jonas,
struggling furiously.

"If you do, tell her why I did it," said Phil.

Jonas shrieked and struggled, but in vain. Phil gave his face an
effectual scrubbing, and did not desist until he thought he had avenged
the bad treatment he had suffered.

"There, get up!" said he at length.

Jonas scrambled to his feet, his mean features working convulsively with
anger.

"You'll suffer for this!" he shouted.

"You won't make me!" said Phil contemptuously.

"You're the meanest boy in the village."