“Ay, so I heard say,” replied the great fellow.
“Is she better?”
“Better! Well, she ain’t been badly.”
“Not dying?” said Uncle Jack.
“What’s that yow, Mester?” said Pannell. “Sarvice to you, sir. My mother!—dying! Well, I suppose she be, slowly, like the rest of us.”
“But what have you been doing?” I cried. “What a state you are in!”
“State I’m in! Yow should have seen me a fortnit ago, my lad. I’m splendid now—coming round fast.”
“But how was it?” cried Uncle Jack, while I turned white as I seemed to see it all.
“How was it, Mester!” said Pannell laughing. “Well, you see, I weer heving bit of a walluck, wi’ my pipe in my mooth, and it being bit dusk like that night I didn’t see which way I were going, and run my head again some bits o’ wood.”
“Sticks!” I said excitedly.