“Ah, you go like that, sir,” said Gedge; “but just you wait till you smell one o’ them chops, frizzled as I’ll do it, and peppered and salted—wonder whether there is a bit o’ pepper to be got.”
Gedge did not get the news till the arrangements were well in progress, and a pang of disappointment shot, through him, mingled with a longing to go and join in the fun. But he kept his thoughts to himself, and set to work to make his invalid participate as much as was possible by listening and reporting all he could hear.
“Just you hark, sir; can’t hear a whisper, and it’s as black as can be,” he said softly. “Hope; those chaps as they’ve sent won’t muff it and let the sheep get away to the mountains.”
“They most likely will,” sighed Bracy, who was more low-spirited than usual that night.
“That’s what I’m afraid on, sir. Can’t hear nothing, sir,” he said mournfully. “Yes, I can; just a soft sort o’ sound as is getting louder. It’s pitter-patter o’ little feet in the mud. Yes, that’s it, sir. They’re a-coming nigher and nigher. Oh! don’t I wish I was out behind ’em with a couple of those grey dogs without any tails the drovers uses. I’d have ’em in through the gates in no time, without losing one.”
“Are they going to drive the flock into the courtyard?” said Bracy wearily.
“Why, I telled him they were just now,” muttered Gedge; and then aloud, “Yes, sir, that’s it; and here they come, and—I can’t see, but I can hear—they’re a-getting quite near. And of course, as soon as they’re all in, bing-bang our chaps’ll swing them great gates to and make ’em fast, and there, you are. What a glorious grab, and won’t the niggers be wild! Say, Mr Bracy, sir.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you feel as if you want to shout?”
“No, Gedge, no.”