“Sir,” called out Jean Marie from the place of his concealment, his voice sounding thin and strange through the keyhole; “Sir, I could help with the reaping; you said you wanted another pair of hands.”
“What’s that?” cried Farmer Joe, and then he fell a-laughing. “Why, there’s sense in what the chap says—I’m terribly short-handed just now. Come out, sin’ thou’rt theer, and let’s have a look at thee.”
The door being unlocked, Jean emerged from the buttery, and stepped lightly across the floor on his bare feet. Taking up his position opposite old Rainford, he first extended for inspection a pair of powerful hands, and then, pulling up his ragged shirt-sleeves, displayed the magnificent muscles of his arms.
“Will that do?” he enquired quaintly.
The farmer slapped him on the back, with a roar of laughter.
“That’ll do, my lad; that’ll do,” he cried. “Od’s bobs, they arms ’ud do credit to an Englishman! Coom, we’s see how mich work thou can get through to-morrow. How long dost thou want to bide here?”
“Till the end of the week, if I may.”
“Ah, that’ll do well enough; we’s have finished field by then. How wilt thou get away, think’st thou?”
“A friend of mine will meet me a little further down the coast in a fishing-boat. You see, I am trusting you, sir. I am sure you will keep my secret.”