“Oh, poor Tally! My kindest cow,” cried Mrs Shackle.
“Yes, I shall set that down to you Ramillies. That’s a flogging for you if she isn’t found.”
“No, no, master; don’t be so hard. The poor boy was out all night looking after signals and—”
Bang! Down came the farmer’s fist on the table making the plates and basins jump.
“Hay, woman, hay!” he roared. “Mind what you’re talking about!”
“Don’t do that, Blenheim!” cried Mrs Shackle. “You quite frightened me.”
“Yes, I’ll frighten the whole lot of you. Ten golden pounds gone over the cliff through that boy’s neglect.”
“Well, never mind, dear. You made ever so much more than that last night, I’ll be bound!”
“Will you hold your tongue?” roared the farmer. “There, make haste and finish that food, boy. Take Jemmy Dadd and the boat and find her. Skin’s worth a few shillings. I must have that.”
“Did you look over the cliff, father?” asked Ram.