“An’ now I’ll better be goin’.”
“What be your ’urry, lad? There be rum i’ the cupboard an’ kittle’s a-biling.”
“Aye, I see it be!” answered Mr. Potter, retreating to the door again.
“Then sit ’ee down, do!”
“Why, y’see, Pen, Oxham an’ ’is men be a-seekin’ ’ereabouts, an’ I won’t ’ave ’em mak’ trouble for you arl along on account o’ pore Potter——”
“Bah!” exclaimed old Penelope fiercely. “What do I care for ’em! They can’t frutten me. So sit ye down, Jarge.”
“Why, I bean’t ’ardly fit for comp’ny, Pen, and——” Mr. Potter suddenly held his peace, and they heard a distant shout, a clamour of voices, a growing hubbub. “They’ve winded me, I rackon!” said he.
“Aye,” nodded Penelope composedly, “they’ll be breakin’ the door in prensly! So get ye below, Jarge; get ye down under stone.”
“No, no, Pen, they’ll come here sure an’ pull the old place t’ bits, an’ if they should find me ’twould be bad for us both! No, I’ll cut stick whiles I can, Pen!” And, crossing to the front door, Mr. Potter reached to draw the bolts then hesitated and stood listening, while old Penelope peered through the lattice.
“Ye be too late, Jarge,” said she calmly, “there be three or four of ’em waitin’ for ye in the road.”