“Well!” cried Gilmore; “it isn’t because we don’t like him.”
“No,” said Macey, “only in good-humoured fun, because he turns about so. I wish,” he added dolefully, “he would turn round here now.”
“You don’t think as the young master’s really drownded, do you?” said a voice behind, and Macey turned sharply, to find that Bruff had been listening to every word.
“No, I don’t,” he cried angrily; “and I’ll punch anybody’s head who says he is. I believe old Distie wishes he was.”
“You’re a donkey,” cried Distin, turning scarlet.
“Then keep away from my heels—I might kick. It makes me want to with everybody going along as cool as can be, as if on purpose, to fish the best chap I ever knew out of some black hole among the bushes.”
“Best chap!” said Distin, contemptuously.
“Yes: best chap,” retorted Macey, whose temper was soured by the cold and sleeplessness of the past night.
Further words were stopped by the churchwarden’s climbing up the sandy bank of the deep lane, and stopping half-way to the top to stretch out his hand to the rector whom he helped till he was amongst the furze, when he turned to help the doctor, who was, however, active enough to mount by himself.
The rest of the party were soon up in a group, and then there was a pause and the churchwarden spoke.