“Trouble us?—no!” said Dexter, laughing. “Miss Grayson was a bit afraid of ’em, but I ran the big one, and he galloped off across the fields.”
“There,” said the butcher; “what did I say? Bit playful, that’s all.”
“And when we heard a noise, and found one of ’em standing over that young Danby, he was only turning him over, that’s all.”
“Yes; he was running away, and fell down, and the beasts came to look at him,” said Dengate, laughing.
“And Sir James was over on the stile calling for help. Why, as soon as I ran at the bullocks they all galloped off, all but the big one, and I give him a crack on the horn, and soon made him go.”
“Of course. Why, a child would make ’em run. That’s all, sir, I only wanted to know whether they really was dangerous, because if they had been, as I said afore, bullock it is now, but beef it should be. Good morning, sir.”
“What are you going to do!” said the doctor.
“Do, sir? I’m a-going to let Sir James do his worst. My beasts ain’t dangerous, and they ain’t on a public road, so there they stay till I want ’em for the shop. Morning, young—er—gentleman. You’re not afraid of a bullock?”
“No,” said Dexter quietly, “I don’t think I am.”
“I’m sure you ain’t, my lad, if you’ll ’scuse me calling you so. Morning, sir, morning.”