"Now then, little Carlingford! Out of the way, puppies!" cries Trebooze, righted again for the moment by the excitement, and thrusting the hounds right and left, he stoops down to put in the little terrier.
Suddenly he springs up, with something like a scream, and then bursts out on Peter with a volley of oaths.
"Didn't I tell you to drive that cur away?"
"Which cur, sir?" cries Peter, trembling, and utterly confounded.
"That cur!… Can't I believe my own eyes? Will you tell me that the beggar didn't bolt between my legs this moment, and went into the hole before the terrier?"
Neither answered. Peter with utter astonishment; Tom because he saw what was the matter.
"Don't stoop, Squire. You'll make the blood fly to your head. Let me—"
But Trebooze thrust him back with curses.
"I'll have the brute out, and send the spear through him!" and flinging himself on his knees again, Trebooze began tearing madly at the roots and stones, shouting to the half-buried terrier to tear the intruder.
Peter looked at Tom, and then wrung his hands in despair.