Mrs. Bolland witnessed the feat with some degree of alarm. In the course of a few hours she had come to see her adopted son passing from childhood into vigorous adolescence.
“Drat that lad!” she cried irately. “Does he want to break his neck?”
“He larnt that trick t’ other day, missus,” commented William, standing all lopsided to balance a huge pail of pig’s food. “He’ll mek a rare chap, will your Martin.”
“He’s larnin’ a lot o’ tricks that I ken nowt about,” cried Mistress Martha. “Nice doin’s there was last night. How comes it none o’ you men saw him carryin’ on i’ t’ fair wi’ that little French la-di-dah?”
“I dunno, ma’am.”
William grinned, though, for some of the men had noted the children’s antics, and none would “split” to the farmer.
“But I did hear as how Martin gev t’ Squire’s son a fair weltin’,” he went on. “One o’ t’ grooms passed here an oor sen, exercisin’ a young hoss, an’ he said that beäth young gentlemen kem yam at half-past ten. Master Frank had an eye bunged up, an’ a nose like a bad apple. He was that banged about that t’ Squire let him off a bastin’ an’ gev t’ other a double allowance.”
Mrs. Bolland smiled.
“Gan on wi’ yer wark,” she said. “Here’s it’s seven o’clock, half t’ day gone, an’ nothin’ done.”
Martin, searching for stray eggs, suddenly heard a familiar whistle. He looked around and saw Jim Bates’s head over the top of the lane hedge.