“Well, I’ve had my own mispicions about who eh es from the furst.”
“Who do ee maan?”
“Don’t et strike ee who eh might be?” said the constable in a chilling whisper.
“No,” was the whispered reply, after a pause.
“Who do ee maan?”
“Ded ee ever hear tell ef the auld Squire blawed the horn?”
“Man alive, I niver thought o’ thet. Moast likely you’m right. Moore nor wance my auld woman has wok’ me up in the dead of night to listen to cry o’ hounds. Passel o’ nonsonce, I’d say, but ’pend upon et her heerd summat.”
“Good Lor’! wha—what’s thet glidin’ along by they theere trees?”
“Wheere? wheere? Lor’ a mercy. I’m turned cold as a quilkan a’ moast. Feel my hand.”
The Earthstopper was biting a bit of furze to prevent himself from exploding with laughter, and fearing he could control himself no longer he resolved to give them a toot on the horn and to trust to their state of perturbation for a satisfactory issue.