“Dexter!” cried Helen.
“You, sir!” cried the doctor.
“Well, I ham!” ejaculated Peter, getting up and giving his thigh a slap.
Dan’l sat on the floor rubbing his back, and he uttered a grunt as his face expanded till he displayed all his front teeth—a dismal array of four, and not worth a bite.
“Are you hurt?” cried Helen.
Dexter shook his head.
“Are either of you hurt?” said the doctor frowning.
“Screwed my off fetlock a bit, sir,” said Peter, stooping to feel his right ankle.
“Hurt?” growled Dan’l. “Well, sir, them’s ’bout the hardest boards as ever I felt.”
“Go and ask Mrs Millett to give you both some ale,” said the doctor; and the two men smiled as they heard their master’s prescription. “Then go on and tell the builder to come and patch up this old roof. Here, Dexter, come in.”