“I give this well-meaning but m-m-muddle-headed young man credit for the best intentions in the world. But same time I demand that he should give up my p-p-property, and that he should take himself off m-m-my premises without furth’ delay.”
“Certainly, sir. Good-evening,” said Bram.
And without waiting to hear any more of Mr Biron’s protests, or heeding his cries of “Stop thief!” Bram ran out as fast as he could by the way he had come, leaving the outer door, which he had damaged on his forcible entry, to slam behind him.
Once outside the farmyard, however, he found himself in a difficulty, being suddenly stopped by a farm laborer, in whom his rapid exit from the house had not unnaturally aroused suspicions, which were not allayed by the sight of the drawn sword in his hand.
“Eh, mon, who art ta? And where art agoin’?”
Bram pointed to the house.
“There’s a mon in yonder has gotten t’ jumps,” explained he simply, “and he was wa-aving this abaht’s head. So Ah took it away from ’un.”
The other man grinned, and nodded.
“T’ mester’s took that way sometimes,” said he. “But this sword’s none o’ tha property, anyway.”
Bram looked back at the house. Nobody had followed him out; even the damaged door had been left gaping open.