"Oh, Lor'! don't any more on ye come over here," cried Billy: "it's all we can do to get round. The creek's overflowed: 'n' it's all quakin' tussocks here; that's the way he went in, a jumpin' from one to another."
While Billy was speaking he was tearing off two of the top rails from the fence. He seemed to be as strong as a giant. In a very few minutes, he had two rails over his shoulder, and had plunged back among the bushes. In a few minutes more, out they all came; Rob being led between Mr. March and Billy. He was indeed, as Billy had said he would be, "a sight to behold." Up to his very arms he was plastered with black, slimy mud.
"Oh, mamma, it smells horrid," was his first remark. "I wouldn't mind if it didn't smell so."
Nelly ran up as close to him as she dared.
"Oh, Rob," she said, "how could you go in such a place! Why didn't you stay with us?"
"I wanted to see if there were any grapes yet," said Rob; "and you couldn't have told yourself, Nell, that it wouldn't bear. Ugh! What'll I do, mamma?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Rob," said Mrs. March: she was at her wits' end. She looked helplessly at Billy: Billy was rubbing his left cheek with his right forefinger,—his invariable gesture when he was perplexed. Mr. March also stood looking at Rob with a despairing face.
"I wish you wouldn't all look so at me," cried Rob, half crying: "it's horrid to be stared at. What'll I do, mamma?"
It was indeed a dilemma. Rob's trousers and jacket were dripping wet, and coated thick with the muddy slime; his shoes were full of it; as he walked about it made a gurgling noise, and spurted up; his face was spattered with it; his hands were black; even his hair had not escaped.
"There's lots o' hay in the barn," said Billy; "we might rub a good deal off on him with that. Me 'n' you'd better take him," said Billy, nodding to Mr. March. "No, mum, ye stay where ye be; we'll manage better without ye, this time," continued Billy, waving Mrs. March back, as she set out to follow them.