“But you’d got a gun,” said Hickathrift, who was listening with Dick, while Tom Tallington, who had business at the wheelwright’s that morning, stood hearing all. “Why didst na let him hev it again?”
“What’s the use o’ shuting at a sperrit?” grumbled John Warren. “’Sides, I couldn’t see him.”
“Tchah! it warn’t a sperrit,” said Hickathrift contemptuously.
“Well, I don’t know so much about that,” grumbled John Warren. “If it weern’t a sperrit what was to mak my little dog, Snig, creep down in the bottom of the boat and howl? Yow mark my words: it’s sperrits, that’s what it is; and it’s because o’ that theer dreern; but they needn’t shute at me, for I don’t want dreern made.”
“Going over to town to see the doctor, John?” said Dick.
“Nay, lad, not I. It’s only a hole in my arm. There arn’t nowt the matter wi’ me. I’ve tied it oop wi’ some wet ’bacco, and it’ll all grow oop again, same as a cooten finger do.”
“But someone ought to see it.”
“Well, someun has sin it. I showed it to owd Dave, and he said it weer all right. Tchah! what’s the good o’ doctors? Did they cure my ager?”
“Well, go up and ask mother to give you some clean linen rag for it.”
“Ay,” said the rabbit-trapper with a grim smile, “I’ll do that.”