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One of the enemy will then run out and endeavour to tag him before he can run back to his own base, and one of his side will try to tag the enemy, the rule being that each in turn must have left his home after his opponent. If a player is tagged, he becomes a prisoner of the other side and is put into the prison. The successful tagger may then return to Ids home without danger of being tagged.
Johnny Pym has got a goat he can hitch up. What was that, pa? What was that went 'OoOOoohm!" "Whoa, Nell, whoa there! Steady, gal, steaday! Ho, there! Ho! Whoa whoa-hup! Whad dy y' about? Fool horse. Whoa... whoa so, gal, soo-o. Lion, I guess, or a tagger, or sumpum or other." And talk about music. You thought the band was grand. You just wait. Don't you hear it down the street?
In this game the one tagged must place his hand on the spot of his body where the tagger tagged him; doing this, he must chase the other players until he tags one of them. This is a favorite game with little children. A place is marked off and named "The Brook" we will say it is three feet wide. The players run and try to jump the brook. When all have jumped over, they stand and jump backwards.
He explained to them all the intricate points of sparring and the tricks of training and defence. He opened to their minds' view all the indecorous life of a tagger after professional sports. His jargon of slang was a continuous joy and surprise to them. His gestures, his strange poses, his frank ribaldry of tongue and principle fascinated them. He was like a being from a new world.
"Here's a stick." They took hold of it in turn. Tom's hand came out on top. "I'm tagger. Look out!" he cried. They played the game. At last he caught Leila, and crying out, "You're tagged," seized her boy-cap and threw it up on to the steep slope of the stable roof. "Oh! that's not fair," cried the girl. "You are a rude boy. Now you've got to get it." "No, indeed. Get the stable-man to get it."
He tells how the month before he come to Baller Baller Baller-daddad an extry large tagger had been sneakin' around the mission-house, a-watchin' for scholars, and how one day, when, according to Brother Matthias, this here Flora Martin, armed only with a rifle and girded about with the heavenly sperrit how this here Flora "
He explained to them all the intricate points of sparring and the tricks of training and defence. He opened to their minds' view all the indecorous life of a tagger after professional sports. His jargon of slang was a continuous joy and surprise to them. His gestures, his strange poses, his frank ribaldry of tongue and principle fascinated them. He was like a being from a new world.
Aunt Corinne's nephew mentally saw a cavern in one of the neighboring hills, and men in scarlet cloaks and feathers lurking among the bushes. If there is any word sweeter to the young male ear than Indian or Tagger, it is robbers. "Are there many robbers around here?" he inquired, fixing intent eyes on the toll-woman. "There used to be plenty of horse-thieves, and is, yet," she replied.
"Does seem a pity," the old woman said, still watching the white splotch against the background of gray and blue. "Families ought to be at peace." "Peace! I swan!" snorted Cap'n Ira. "'Rion Latham is about as much given to peace as a wild tagger. But he knows which half of his biscuit's buttered. He'll sail with Tunis as long as Tunis pays him wages."
As soon as he has tagged a victim he runs for home as fast as possible. If he himself is tagged before he reaches home he is out, and the tagger becomes "warner." If both the warner and the one tagged reach home safely they clasp hands, and finally the line contains all the players but one, who has the honour of being warner for the next game.
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