“’Course I’ll follow him; but what’s he going after? Well, I aren’t surprised. Nothing surprises me now that the place is turned upside down. I don’t believe I should feel surprised if my brother Nat was to want to shake hands, though that would be a startler.”
Samson went on musing after his fashion, as he kept close to Fred’s heels, and they went quickly and silently on over the soft wet grass, till a great black patch began to loom over them, grew more dark, and then, after a few moments’ hesitation and trying to right and left, Fred plunged in, to force his way as carefully as possible, but making very slow progress toward the spot he sought, for to a great extent it was guess-work in the utter blackness which reigned around.
“I say, Master Fred?” whispered Samson, as a pause was made.
“Yes.”
“You said something just now about the Silcombe bull.”
“Well?”
“I wish he was here.”
“Why?”
“So as to go first and make a way. I’m getting scratched all to bits.”
“I think we are right. Come along.”