"Go home, Blob!" said the Parson, patting him. "Home!" pointing, "Home! and stop making a blob o yourself for the present, there's a good boy. Mr. Piper wants you to help him."
Blob shook a slow head.
"Nay," he said in musical Sussex. "Oi'll boide with Maaster Sir."
Here was another boy in a land of men. In a dim way he felt their kinship.
CHAPTER XXXIX
THE FLAP OF A FLAG
The Parson was staring through the spy-glass at Beachy Head.
A mile and a half away, it lay in misty splendour, not unlike a lion sleeping.
At the foot of it a few tiny black figures moved among the rocks.
"I make out about a score of em," he said. "The boat's beached, and a man over it. I can catch the glint on his gun-barrel. We can't get at em except along the shore, hang it! They'd see us coming a mile off."