“Trapped! Yes; the cowardly wretches!”
“Ay, ’twere cowardly. Lucky I came. Couldn’t feel bottom, eh?”
“No.”
“Nay, yow wouldn’t; there’s seven foot o’ watter there, wi’out mood.”
“How did you know I was there?”
“What! Didn’ I tell ye?”
“No.”
“I were hanging about like, as nigh as I could for chaps, a waitin’ to see yow go home; but yow didn’t coom, and yow didn’t coom; and I got crooked like wi’ waiting, and wondering whether yow’d gone another way, when all at once oop comes the bull-poop fierce like, and lays holt o’ me by the leg, and shakes it hard. I was going to kick un, but he’d on’y got holt of my trowsis, and he kep on’ shacking. Then he lets go and barks and looks at me, and takes holt o’ my trowsis agin, and hangs away, pulling like, till I seemed to see as he wanted me to coom, and I followed him.”
“Good old Piter!” I said; and there was a whine. I did not know it, but Piter was curled up on the warm ashes close by me, and as soon as he heard his name he put up his head, whined, and rapped the ashes with his stumpy tail.
“He went to the wucks fast as he could, and slipped in under the gate; but I couldn’t do that, you see, Mester, and the gate was locked, so I was just thinking what I’d best do, and wondering where you might be, when I see Stivens come along, looking as if he’d like to howd my nose down again his grindstone, and that made me feel as if I’d like to get one of his ears in my tongs, and his head on my stithy. He looked at me, and I looked at him, and then I come away and waited till he’d gone.”