“Why, his leg’s in a great trap, and it’s held by a chain,” cried Uncle Jack. “Here, how came you in this condition?”
“Eh mester, aw doan know. Deed aw doan know,” the fellow groaned. “Hey, but it’s biting my leg off, and I’ll be a lame man to the end o’ my days.”
“Why, it’s Gentles!” cried Uncle Jack, taking the lantern from me, for I had enough to do to hold the dog.
“Tek off the thing; tek off the thing,” groaned the man. “It’s a-cootin’ my leg i’ two, I tell’ee.”
“Hold your noise, and don’t howl like that,” cried Uncle Jack angrily, for he seemed to understand now that the man must have climbed over into the yard and been caught, though he was all the more surprised, for quiet smooth-faced Gentles was the last man anyone would have suspected.
“But I tell’ee its tekkin off my leg,” groaned the man, and he made another trial to escape, but was checked by the peg driven tightly into the ground between the stones, and he fell again, hurting himself horribly.
“I shall be a dead man—murdered in a minute,” he groaned. “Help! Oh, my poor missus and the bairns! Tek off that thing, and keep away yon dorg.”
“Look here,” said Uncle Jack, making the light play on the poor wretch’s miserable face. “How came you here?”
“Your dorg flew at me, mester, and drove me in t’watter.”
“Yes, exactly; but how came you in the yard?”