The boy made for the cottage.
Blob, leaning out of the dormer, chewing an apple, watched him with spiteful amusement.
"Say, Maaster Sir," he cried, as he spat and slobbered, "reck'n they'll catch you."
"Shall I unbolt the door, sir?" shouted Piper.
"You do, by God!" roared the wrathful Parson. "They're on our heels, fool!"
"How'll you manage then, sir?"
"Leave that to me, and stick to your shooting!"
A great water-butt stood at the corner, empty now.
The Parson, man of myriad resource, had trundled it beneath the dormer, and turned it upside down in a second.
"Up, boy!"