“Ay, ’tis me, sir, and glad am I to see you look at me again. For oons, sir, I thought you’d shut your eyes forever! You’re hurt, sir—badly hurt. And for sure ’tis one of them rascally smugglers that’s done it!”
Ill as he was, Tregenna smiled and raised his eyebrows.
“Smugglers, Tom! Nay, sure you mean ‘free-traders.’”
“I means smugglers, domn ’em!” roared Tom, energetically. “And if ever I carry a keg again, or help ’em in their wicked ways, may I be riddled through and through, loike as if I was a target!”
“Since—when have you—become so virtuous?” panted out Tregenna feebly.
“Since one of ’em, nay two of ’em served me a dirty trick, sir,” answered Tom, fiercely. “Ask me no more, sir; for sure I don’t want for to let out what I’ve in my moind!”
“How long—have I lain here?”
“Not more’n the space of half a minute, sir. And no more you mustn’t. I be going for to call them at the Parsonage.”
“Nay, nay, Tom, I should alarm them, in this plight.”
“Never fear for that, sir. It would alarm ’em more for you to die!”