At home yet another surprise awaited him. His father’s cottage flamed with lights. Instead of silence and sleep brooding here, with the glimmering leaden statues standing like sentinels above, as he had often seen them on returning from nocturnal enterprises, Dan found his father’s cottage awake and full of stir and bustle. The door was open and from the kitchen came Matthew’s voice.
When Dan entered Mr Sweetland was sitting in an old eared chair by the fire in his nightshirt. A red nightcap covered his head, and his person was largely exposed, where Mrs Sweetland applied vinegar and brown paper to red bruises. The keeper evidently endured great agony, but no sign of suffering escaped his lips.
He turned to Dan and spoke.
“Be that you? Where was you this night, Daniel?”
“Not in Middlecott Woods, father; that I’ll swear to. But I’m feared that you was—to poor purpose. Have ’e catched anybody?”
“No; but Adam Thorpe was hit an’ went down. Me an’ him have long knowed what was doing, an’ we gived it out at the White Hart bar in mixed company that we was to be in Thorley Bottom to-night. Then we went to the coverts instead, an’, sure enough, surprised my gentlemen. Two of ’em. They fired two shots, an’ we laid wait an’ went for ’em as they came out wi’ birds. I got one down an’ he bested me. What he’ve broken, if anything, I can’t say. T’other fired on Thorpe an’ he couldn’t get up. Afterwards, when they’d got clear, I found he was alive but couldn’t speak. Then I crawled to the house, an’ some of the gentlemen and a indoor man or two comed out. ’Twas only eleven of the clock at latest. They carried Thorpe to the cottage hospital at Moreton, an’ sent me home. Us’ll hear to-morrow how he fares, poor soul.”
“I knowed he’d catch it sooner or late,” said Dan. “Such a cross-grained bully as him. But I hope ’twill larn him wisdom. An’ you. Be you hurt in the breathing? Will ’e be at my wedding to-morrow? It shall be put off if you can’t come.”
“’Tis all right if you can swear you had no hand in this. That’s the best plaster to my bruises,” answered his father.
“Of course I can. Why for won’t you trust me? I know nought about it—God’s my judge.”
“Then you’d better get to your bed an’ sleep,” said his mother.