“What, is it you, Harry?”
“Howd your tongue, wilt ta, paarson. I don’t want the lads to know as I comed and telled you. I’ve come along fower dykes.”
“What does it all mean?” said the vicar, leaning over the hedge, to see the great hammerman lying on his face in the ditch on the field side.
“Don’t ask no questions, paarson, for I wean’t tell nowt, ’cause I’m sweered not to; but I don’t like what’s going on.”
“Well, but tell me, Harry, I beg—I insist—”
“I wean’t tell thee nowt, paarson, on’y this here. Yow wouldn’t like them as you knows hurt, so joost tell Dicky Glaire to look out.”
“But why—when? I must know more.”
The only answer was a loud rustling, and the great body of the hammerman could be seen crawling through the nettles as he made his way pretty quickly along in the opposite direction to that in which he had come, and the vicar forbore to pursue, as it might have tended to betray him.
“I’m not without friends, after all,” he said, musing. “Then this quietness is only the precursor of some other storm. I’ll go up at once.”
He made Iiis way straight to the House, and all was very quiet in the town. Men were lounging about, and their thin sad-faced wives were to be seen here and there busy within, but no sign was visible of the coming storm; and for a while the vicar was ready to doubt the possibility of anything threatening, till he recalled Big Harry’s action, and felt certain that the man’s words must be true. Any doubt he might have had was, however, dispelled a moment or two later, for he saw Tom Podmore coming towards him; but as soon as the young man caught sight of the vicar he turned sharply round and went away.