“I do, sir. I say, sir, if I was you I’d give me orders to see the butchers, and buy four o’ the sheepskins. I could dress ’em, and you could have ’em made up into a rug, or let the tailor line your greatcoat with ’em. For if we’re going to be shut up here all the winter, every one of them skins ’ll be better for you than two ton o’ coals.”
“Buy six for me, my lad,” said Bracy, “and have three to line your own coat.”
“Oh, thank ye, sir; but—”
“No, no; three will do, my lad, for I shall be lying asleep under the turf before the winter comes.”
“Mr Bracy, sir!” cried Gedge in a husky voice. “Oh, sir, plee, sir, don’t go and talk like that, sir! Oh, blow the sheep, and the mutton, and the skins!” he muttered; “what do I care about ’em now?”
He was turning away, when, regretting what he had said, Bracy raised himself a little on one elbow, and said softly, and with his voice sounding stronger:
“Why don’t you go on telling me, my lad! Is the flock coming nearer?”
Gedge thrust his head out again, and then partly withdrew it.
“Yes, sir—close in, sir. You can hear ’em now; they must be coming in at the gates. Oh, do be careful!” he whispered to nobody, once more full of excitement, and imagining everything in the darkness. “Steady, steady! Mind, you nigger to the left. Yah! don’t get waving your arms like that; you’ll scare one o’ them old rams. Can’t you see him tossing his head about? He’ll bolt directly, and if he does the whole flock ’ll be after him and off and away to the hills.”
“Can you see them, Gedge?” said Bracy, beginning to take interest in the capture now for his lad’s sake, for deep down in his breast there was a well-spring of gratitude for all the poor, rough, coarse fellow had done.