Dan’l reflected.
If he went off to fetch the ladder from the stable-yard, the boy would slide down the top of the vinery and escape.
That would not do.
If he called to Peter to fetch the ladder, the boy would wait till the groom was gone, and slip over the wall, drop, and escape that way.
That would not do either.
Hah! There was the labourer. He could call him.
It was past twelve, and he had gone to his dinner, Dan’l, like Peter, taking his at the more aristocratic hour of one.
Dan’l was in a fix. He meant to have that boy, and make an example of him, but a great difficulty stared him in the face.
There was no one to call, unless he waited till the doctor came. If the doctor came, he would perhaps take a lenient view of the matter, and let the boy go, and, unless Dan’l could first give the prisoner a sound thrashing with a hazel stick, one of a bundle which he had in his tool-shed, all his trouble would have been in vain.
So he would not call the doctor.