“Tchah! he’d never vind me; and, if he did, he dursen’t tackle me. There’s a dozen o’ my mates would break his head if he tried.”
“Never mind about that,” cried Nic. “You promise me. My father warned you only yesterday.”
“So he did,” said the man, showing his teeth. “In a regular wax he was.”
“And I will not have him annoyed,” cried Nic. “So now then, you promise?”
“Nay, I shan’t promise.”
“Then I go straight to the constable, and if I do you’ll be summoned and punished, and perhaps sent out of the country.”
“What vor?—pulling you out when you was drownding?”
“For stealing our salmon and beating our two keepers.”
“Then I’d better have left you in yonder,” said the man, laughing.
“You mean I had better have left you in yonder, and rid the country of an idle, poaching scoundrel,” cried Nic indignantly. “But there, you saved my life, and I want to give you a chance. Look here, Pete Burge, you had better go to sea.”