“But his leg?”
“Ay, that’s badly. I give the hankycher a good tighten up, and that hot him, so that he had to howd his tongue.”
“That made him hold his tongue, Hicky?”
“Ay, lad. I med him feel that if he didn’t shoot his neb, I’d pull tighter, and so he quieted down. Now, tell us all about it.”
“Give us some bread and butter first, Hicky; we’re nearly starved.”
“Hey, lads,” cried the wheelwright. “Here, coom in to missus and—”
Hickathrift’s speech was cut short by the coming of the squire, who hurried up.
“Here, boys,” he cried; “what’s all this?”
Dick told all he knew, and the squire drew a long breath and turned by the light of the lanthorn to gaze first in the lads’ faces, and then to speak to the wheelwright.
“This is bad, Hickathrift,” he said hoarsely.