“Doctor, lad?”
“Yes; I know. Let Jacob go and tell my father, and he’ll send down the old cob. Thorpeley’s hurt badly.”
They heard a low whistle, then the wheelwright’s orders given sharply to his apprentice, followed by the dull thud, thud of his boots as he ran off; and directly after the punt glided in and its bow was seized by the big strong hand upon which the soft glowing light of the horn lanthorn shone.
“Hey, but what’s the matter with the man?” cried Hickathrift. “We’ve been wondering why he didn’t come back.”
“I don’t know, only we heard a shot,” said Dick excitedly; “and then we heard someone calling for help, and found him lying ashore.”
“Let me get a good howd on him,” said the wheelwright; and with one foot in the boat he passed his great arm under the constable and lifted him out as tenderly as if he had been a child.
But, gentle as was the wheelwright’s act, it roused the injured man, who seemed to be driven into a fit of fury by the pain he suffered, and he burst into a torrent of bad language against Hickathrift and the two boys, which he kept up till he had been carried into his lodging and laid upon his bed.
“Hey, lads,” said the wheelwright with a low chuckle, as he walked down with the boys to where the lanthorn still hung upon the willow-stump, the care of the constable having been left to the women; “he don’t seem to hev lost his tongue.”
“But he’s very bad, isn’t he?” said Dick anxiously.
“I should say no,” replied Hickathrift. “Man who’s very badly don’t call people.”