"Nay, nay, there's some plot here—some mischief hatching. I'll see, or"——
He was just going to make the attempt; but Tim withstood him, and in a peremptory manner barred the way.
"How! am I barred by thee, and to my face?"
"It's no business o' thine, Master Gervase. What's hatching there concerns not thee. Keep back, I say, or"——
"Ha! Thou jingle-pated rascal, stand off, or I'll wring thy neck round as I would a Jackdaw."
"Do not, do not, Gervase!" said Grace Ashton, fearful of some unlucky strife. "Let us begone. We are too late already, and 'tis no business of ours."
"What! and be o'erfoughten by this scurvy lack-wit. Once more, who is there above?"
"An' what if I shouldn't tell thee?"
"I'll baste thy carcase to a mummy; I'll make thee tender for the hounds."
"Another word to that, master, an' it's a bargain."