“Well, you can’t mean to give us up,” said Punch excitedly, “or you wouldn’t want me to keep my gun and his.”
Disposition to resist passed away the next moment, for the old man pressed the second musket into his hand and urged him towards the door.
“Can you get up, comrade?” whispered Punch, who was now all excited action.
“Yes,” came in a hoarse whisper, and a loud creak came from the ceiling.
“Ketch hold of these guns then. He wants me to bring the forage-basket.—Got ’em?” he continued, as he placed the two pieces together and held them up against the ladder.
“Bonum!” ejaculated the priest, who stood close up, as the two muskets were drawn upwards and disappeared.
“Right, sir,” said Punch in answer, and he took hold of the basket, raised it above his head, took a step or two, then whispered, “Basket! Got it, comrade?”
“Yes,” And it was drawn up after the muskets, the boards overhead creaking loudly the while.
“Anything else, master?—What, take this ’ere jar of water? Right! Of course! Here, comrade, you must look out now. Lean down and catch hold of the jar; and take care as you don’t slop it over.”
“Presto!” whispered the priest.