“Escape?” said Dave, taking off his fox-skin cap and rubbing his head.
“Seed the watter coming, and poonted ower to the Warren,” said the second man, thrusting something in his mouth which he took out of a brass box, and then handing the latter to Dave, who helped himself to a piece of dark-brown clayey-looking stuff which seemed like a thick paste made of brown flour and treacle.
“I wish you men would break yourselves of this habit,” said the squire. “You’ll be worse for it some day.”
“Keeps out the cold and ager, mester,” said the second man, thrusting the box back in his pocket.
“Then you’ve been waiting at the Warren?”
“Ay, mester. Me an’ him waited till we see the fire, and thowt the house hed kitched, and then we come.”
“It was very good of you, my lads,” said the squire warmly. “There, get in, and the mistress will give you some bread and cheese and ale.”
“Arn’t hungry,” growled the second man. “Can’st ta yeat, Dave, man?”
“Ah!” growled Dave, and he slouched round, looking at the ground, and turned to go. “Gimme mai goon,” he added.
“The guns are all right, Dave,” cried Dick. “I’ve got ’em. I say, John Warren, will the rabbits be all drowned?”