“Lucky,” said Margaret, dismounting. “I’ll go and wake May.”
She went indoors, knowing the house well. “I’ll put your ’osses in,” said Jenny. “Our volk be in th’ pens, a’ reckon.”
“I thought your master was a very aged man,” said Geoffrey, as he went with her to the stable.
“He be nigh handy on a hunderd.”
“Surely he does not rise at four o’clock?”
“Aw, eez a’ do though. He be as hardy as a wood-pile toad!”
“Can you tell me where to find a cart? I must go myself and fetch the shepherd,” and he told her briefly how matters stood, trusting in her honest open countenance to keep silence as far as possible. Obviously it was undesirable that the events of the night should be generally known.
“What, Jabez lost!” said she. “’Tis amazin’ sure—ly. He said as he could find his way athwert them downs with his head in a sack bag. Wull, to be zure!”
With her aid Geoffrey soon had a cart and cart-horse, and taking with him a bottle of brandy, which May sent down, her kindly heart thinking poor Jabez, with his sprained ankle, would require something, set forth to fetch the shepherd, who was indeed in a “parlous case.” He found him without difficulty, for Jabez saw him coming, and shouted directions in a voice famous for its power. But getting him into the cart was another thing, and many applications to the bottle were necessary before he was safely up. As they jogged over the hill, Geoffrey inquired how so experienced a man, who could cross the downs with his head in a bag, ever came to get lost.
“Why,” said the shepherd, solemnly shaking his head, “it wur the Ould Un hisself, it wur. He led I by th’ nause round and round—a’ bides in thuck place wur them gurt stwoanes be. Mebbe a’ caddled (bothered) you and miss too?”