“Couldn’t shoot a hit,” said Bumpkin.
“Not he. Wall, we was carrying wheat, and Morris wur loadin, and jest as we gits the last pitch on t’ load, right through th’ ’orses legs runds a rat. Gearns wi’out more ado oops wi’ his loaded gun and bangs her off right under t’ ’orses legs; up jumps th’ ’orse, and Morris wur wery nigh tossed head fust into th’ yard. Wall, he makes no moore ado, for he didn’t keer, gemman or no gemman—didn’t Morris—”
“No more ur didn’t, Joe,” said Mrs. Bumpkin.
“He makes no moore ado, but he up and said, ‘damme,’ he says, ‘sir, you might as well a said you was gwine to shoot; you might a had me off and broked my neck.’”
“Haw! haw! haw!” laughed Mr. Bumpkin, and “Well done, Morris,” said Mrs. Bumpkin.
“Wall,” said Joe, “this ere gemman says, ‘It wouldn’t er bin much loss,’ he says, ‘if he had!’ ‘Damme,’ roars Morris, ‘it had a bin as much wally to me as yourn, anyhow.’”
They all remembered the story, and even Tim seemed to remember it too, for when they laughed he wagged his tail and laughed with them.
And thus the evening dragged along and bed time came.
In the morning all was in readiness, and the plaintiff with his witness drove away in the gig to the station, where Morris waited to bring the old horse back.
And as the train came into the little country station I awoke.