"'Twas rare sport, Jeph Kenton. Why were you not there too?"
"At Bristol with father," replied Jeph.
"Worse luck for you. The red coat shot the big angel right in the
eye, and shivered him through, and we did the rest with stones. I
sent one that knocked the wing of him right off. You should have
seen me, Stead! And old Clerk North was running about crying all the
time like a baby. He'll never whack us over the head again!"
"What was the good?" said Steadfast.
"You never saw better sport," said the boys.
And indeed, since, when once begun, destruction and mischief are apt
to be only too delightful to boys, they had thoroughly and
thoughtlessly delighted in knocking down the things they had been
taught to respect. A figure of a knight in a ruff kneeling on a tomb
had had its head knocked off, and one of the lads heaved the bits up
to throw at the last fragment of glass in the window.
"What do you do that for?" asked Stead.
"'Tis worshipping of idols," said a somewhat graver lad. "'Break
down their idols,' the man in the black gown said, 'and burn their
graven images in the fire.
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