He held up the great heavy object named, ready to kick out, and Grip bared his teeth for an attack.
“Down, Grip! Come here, sir. How dare you?”
But Grip did dare, and he would have dashed at the labourer if Celia had not caught him by the loose skin of his neck, when he began to shake his head and whine in a way that sounded like protesting.
“And me giving a bit of advice too,” said Jemmy in an ill-used tone.
Grip barked fiercely.
“Be quiet, sir!”
“And going to say, little missus, that if that there dog comes hanging about here, he’ll go over them there cliffs as sure as buttons, and never be seen no more.”
“Come away, Grip. Thank you, Mr Dadd,” said Celia, hurrying the dog away, and giving him a run down along the hollow; while Jemmy Dadd threw himself back, rolled over on to his face, and laughed hoarsely.
“I say, young Ram,” he cried, “what a game!”
“What’s a game?” said the boy sharply.