"What's agate?" he growled, opening the door a couple of inches. "Christian folk should be ligged i' bed by now, i'stead o' coming an' scaring peaceable bodies out o' their wits——"
"Thou'st little wit to be scared out of, Hiram," laughed Rob.
The door opened a foot-breadth wider. "Oh, it's ye, is 't? Ay, there's shameless doings now up at Marsh. I' th' owd Maister's days ye'd hev been abed at sunset, that ye wod."
"We carry arms now, and know how to use them; so keep a civil tongue in thy tousled head," said Griff, with a great air of dignity. "We want to borrow thy dogs, Hiram."
"Oh, that's it? Well, how if th' dogs are anot to be hed at ony lad's beck an' call?"
"We'll take them without a by-your-leave in that case. Come, Hiram, the hares are cropping moon-grass so 'twould make thy old mouth water just to see them."
"Let 'em crop for owt I care. What's comed to th' Marsh kennels that ye mud needs go borrowing?"
"Hemlock has come to them, and there's not one left alive."
Hiram Hey whistled softly, and set down his candle and came out into the moonlight. "That's not a bad start for a war finish," he said, turning his head to the low hill which hid the house from him, as if expecting some sound of tumult.
"Well, 'tis done, and we're missing sport the while," said Griff, with a lad's peremptoriness. "I can hear those dogs of thine yelping in the yard yonder. Loose them, Hiram."