“And you take my advice, miss, don’t you come ’bout here. We lost four sheep last year, and come nigh losing the missuses best cow not long ago. Didn’t you hear?”
“Yes; old Mary told me, and Mrs Shackle mentioned it too.”
“Ay,” continued Jemmy, without removing his hat, “she fell slip-slap into the sea.”
“Poor thing.”
“Ay, little missus; and, if I were you, I wouldn’t come along top o’ they clifts at all. Grass is so short and slithery that, ’fore you knows where you are, your feet goes from under you, and you can’t stop yourself, and over you goes. And that aren’t the worst on it; most like you’re never found.”
“Yes, ’tis very slippy, Miss Celia,” said Ram, beginning to hack again at his stick.
“I do not come here very often, Ram,” she said, quietly. “It is a long time since I came.”
“Ay, and I wouldn’t come no more, little missus,” continued Jemmy, from under his hat, “for if you did not go off, that there dog—”
Grip had been looking on uneasily, and turning his head from one to the other, as each spoke in turn; but the minute he heard himself mentioned, he showed his teeth, and began to growl fiercely at the man.
“Look ye here,” cried Jemmy, sitting up quickly and snatching away his hat, “if you comes at me—see the heel o’ that there boot?”