“All right, wife!” cried the squire. “Glad you are here, Hickathrift! All your people too?”
“Yes, squire, all safe here; but we’re uneasy like about Dave o’ the ’Coy and John Warren.”
“But they’ve got the boat,” cried Dick.
“Yes; I hope they’re safe,” said the squire. “Hickathrift, my lad, that was a brave thought of yours to light that fire. It saved our lives.”
“Nay, squire,” said the big fellow; “it was no thowt o’ mine—it was thy missus put it into my yead.”
The squire gave his wife a look as she stood there in the midst of a group of shivering farm-servants, and then turned to the wheelwright.
“The boat,” he said—“did you come in the boat?”
“Ay, squire. She leaks a deal, but I thrust an owd pillow in the hole. But I nigh upon lost her. My Grip woke me howling, for we were abed. I jumped out and ran down, thinking it was the foxes after the chickens, and walked right into the water. I knowed what it meant, and got over to the saw-pit, and just caught hold of the boat in the dark as it was floating away. Then I got my leaping-pole and run her under the window, and made my missus give me a pillow to stop the leak ’fore I could bale her out. Then Jacob come, and we got the missus down and poled her along here, but was nearly swept by.”
“You’re a good fellow, Hickathrift,” cried the squire. “Wife, get out some hollands; we’re perished. Have a glass, my man; and then we must go in the punt to Grimsey and get the Tallingtons out. We’re all right here, but Grimsey Farm will soon be flooded to the bed-room windows. Light a lanthorn, some one, and put in a spare candle. You’ll go with me, Hickathrift?”
“Ay, squire, to the end of the world, if thou bids me; but I tell ye—”