“Nonsense, Rupert! Could one mistake a sheep for a man?”
“Some benighted ploughman then, ‘plodding his weary way.’”
“If you could bring forward any ploughman to testify that it was he beyond possibility of doubt, I’d give him a ten-pound note.”
“Look here,” said Tod, after staring a minute at this odd remark of Temple’s, “you may put all idea of ploughmen and every one else away. No one was there. If there had been, I must have seen him: it was not possible he could betake himself out of sight in a moment.”
“Have it as you like,” said Temple; “I am going to take a bath. My head aches.”
Stripping, he plunged into the river, which was very wide just there, and swam towards the middle of it.
“It seems to have put Slingsby out,” observed Rupert, alluding to the night alarm. “Do you notice how thoughtful he is? Just look at that fire!”
The sticks had turned black, and began to smoke and hiss, giving out never a bit of blaze. Down knelt Rupert on one side and I on the other.
“Damp old obstinate things!” he ejaculated. And we set on to blow at them with all our might.
“Where’s Temple?” I exclaimed presently; looking off, and not seeing him. Rupert glanced over the river.