“Well, yes, Master Mark,” said that worthy; “I was thinking o’ something o’ that sort. Right in that little chamber place. A good thick wall, and well made, with plenty o’ lime. It wouldn’t seem Christian-like to throw ’em out on the hill among the stones; and you see there’s so many ravens and crows.”
Dummy Rugg kept as close to Mark as he could in these busy times, and tried several times to speak to him, but without success. At last, though, the opportunity came.
“Oh, Master Mark,” he said, in a tone full of reproach; “you ought to have spoke out.”
“When? What about?”
“When I was sent back to take care of those nasty old lanterns. But it serves you right. If I’d been there at the fight you wouldn’t have been hurt like that.”
“And perhaps you’d have been killed. Get out, you ungrateful dog!”
“Dog, am I? Well, it’s enough to make me bite.”
“Bite away, then, Dummy. I can’t lift my arm to hit you now.”
“Then I’ll wait till you get well again. But it was mean. I never seem to get a chance.”
“Well, you are a grumbler, Dummy. Here, you’ve done what none of us could do—shown us how to end all this trouble, and pleased everybody, and yet you’re not happy.”