“They’ve been at work pretty well to-night, doctor, or else I’m wofully mistaken. One of ’em has done a pretty job of mischief here; and it’s well if he don’t do more before he’s done.”
The doctor understood his dialect, and knew how to get out of him what he wanted.
“Who did the foul fiend work upon? who was his victim?”
“He left my boat, and went aboard Will Laud’s.”
“What! the smuggler? I thought he was shot long ago.”
“So others thought, but not I; for I saw him and a sturdy villain of his pass my boat, with all their sails set; and when my Infernal Broiler left me, and sat grinning on his mast, I knew he was up to mischief.”
“What mischief, Robin?”
“Why, look ye, doctor; you must ha’ seen the mischief. Ha’en’t you dressed the young man’s wounds?”
“Yes, Robin; but how came your imp to be the cause of this?”